DE 



CR.OL 





Thomas Gray 



ENGLISH LYRICS 

FROM 

DRYDEN TO BURNS 



EDITED BY 

MORRIS W. CROLL 

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN PRINCETON UNIVERSITY 




NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

IOI2 



CONTENTS 



Introduction 

I. The Songs of the Restoration Period 
II. Dryden and the Classical School . . 

III. Gray and Collins 

IV. Goldsmith and Johnson 

V. Cowper and Burns 

Long and Varied Odes 

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day 

Alexander's Feast, or the Power of Music. 

The Bard 

The Progress of Poesy 

The Passions, An Ode for Music 

Short Odes in Simple Form 

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God . . 

Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude 

Ode on the Spring 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College . 

Hymn to Adversity 

Ode to Simplicity 

Ode written in 1746 

Ode to Evening 

Elegies 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard . . 

The Deserted Village 

Miscellaneous Lyrics 

The Blind Boy 

Ode on Solitude 

From Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue 

vii 



Dryden 
Dryden 
Gray . 
Gray . 
Collins 

Addis on 
Gray . 
Gray . 
Gray . 
Gray . 
Collins 
Collins 
Collins 



Gray . . 

Goldsmith 

Cibber 

Pope . . 
Pope . . 



Page 
xi 

xiii 
xviii 

xxv 
xxix 

3 

5 

10 

15 
19 

24 
25 

27 
28 

32 
33 
35 
36 

38 

43 



55 
56 



Vlll 



Contents 



To Charlotte Pulteney 

To a Child of Quality 

An Ode 

On a Favorite Cat 

Tell me how to Woo thee 

When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly . 

One-and-Twenty 

The Song of David 

The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk . . 

To Mary Unwin 

To the Same 

The Poplar Field 

The Shrubbery 

The Jackdaw 

To a Young Lady 

Loss of the Royal George 

The Castaway 

To-morrow 

A Wish 

The Sleeping Beauty 

A Farewell 

Songs and Ballads: English 

Song: Not, Celia, that I juster am . . . 

Song written at Sea 

Song: My dear Mistress has a heart . . 

Constancy 

Rule Britannia 

Song: For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 

Black-eyed Susan 

Sally in our Alley 

\\i) Ballads: SCOTCH 

Willie Drowned in Yarrow 

The Braes of Yarrow 

Auld Robin Gray 

There *s nae Luck House . . ., 

Absence , 



Philips . 
Prior . . 
Prior . . 
Gray . • . 
Graham 
Goldsmith 
Johnson . 
Smart . 
Copper . 
Cowper . 
Cowper . 
Coii'per . 
Cowper . 
Copper . 
Coicper . 
Cowper . 
Copper . 
Collins . 
Rogers . 
Rogers . 
Barb auld 

Sedley . 
Sackvillc 
WUmoi . 

Wilmot . 
Thomson 
Thomson 
Gay . . 
Carey 

A nonymous 
Logan . . 
Lindsay 
Adams (/) . 
Anonymous 



Page 



Contents ix 

Page 

The Land o' the Leal Nairn ... 97 

Lament for Flodden Elliott ... 97 

Lament for Culloden ......... Burns ... 98 

To a Mouse Burns ... 99 

To a Mountain Daisy Burns ... 101 

Mary Morison Burns . . . 103 

Bonnie Lesley Burns . . . 104 

Song: O, my Luve 's like a red, red rose Bums ... 105 

A Farewell Burns . . . 105 

Ye Flowery Banks Burns ... 106 

Highland Mary Bums . . . 107 

Of a' the Airts Burns . . . 108 

Ha, ha, the Wooing o't Bums . . . 108 

Green Grow the Rashes, O Burns ... no 

John Anderson Burns ... in 

A Man 's a Man for a' that Burns ... in 

Auld Lang Syne Burns ... 113 

Notes and Comments 115 

Index of Authors 173 



Portrait of Thomas Gray Frontispiece 

Portrait of William Collins Facing 36 

Portrait of Oliver Goldsmith 43 

Portrait of William Cowper 66 

Portrait of Robert Burns 98 



INTRODUCTION 

LYRIC POETRY IN THE EIGHTEENTH 
CENTURY 



THE SONGS OF THE RESTORATION-PERIOD 

The purest form of the lyric is the song, — in which 
words and music cannot be thought of, one without the 
other. But unhappily the writing of songs is an art 
that suffers from a general advance in education. The 
farther away a people moves from the simplicity of 
early times, the less freely do its feelings find natural ex- 
pression in song. Nowadays we have almost separated 
the idea of poetry — or at least good poetry — from the 
idea of singing. The words that we sing to popular 
songs we seldom take very seriously, and when we de- 
sire good lyrics we read them in the works of our great 
poets. It is unfortunate that poetry and singing are 
thus separated; and it was not always so. Among our 
English ancestors of the Middle Ages there were many 
traditional ballads of the finest quality, written perhaps 
by wandering minstrels, and sung by the common people 
on all occasions. The famous Robin Hood ballads are 
among the finest of these old folk-songs. But as time 



xii Introduction 

went on, education spread among the people; printing . 
was invented; and thus new ideas and interests, and a 
new kind of literature, gradually drove the folk-songs 
out of the people's minds. After the Elizabethan period 
very few new ones were produced, and the old ones be- 
gan to slip out of memory. 

At first this loss was not felt, for in London and at the 
court a school of poets sprang up in the sixteenth cen- 
tury, who provided for the educated classes beautiful 
lyrics in imitation of French and Italian songs. They 
were helped and encouraged in this art by the fa,ct that 
there w T as then a very general taste for music; and a 
number of composers wrote excellent melodies for their 
words. Lyric poetry — though of a different kind from 
the old popular songs — was thus in a flourishing condi- 
tion, not only at the court, and in the houses of culti- 
vated people, but also in the theaters, and in the homes 
of shop-keeping Londoners. Almost all of the play- 
wrights of the time, including Shakespeare of course, 
were excellent song-writers. 

When Charles II came to the throne (in 1660, after 
the Civil War), a new age began, which was to effect im- 
portant changes in lyric poetry. But for a time the 
happy union between poetry and music continued. Sir 
Charles Sedley, the notorious John Wilmot, Earl of 
Rochester, the Earl of Dorset, and other courtier-poets 
wrote songs which have the old gay, unhampered singing- 
movement of the Elizabethan lyric. In the present vol- 
ume a number of lyrics by these writers will be found at 
the beginning of the section called Songs and Ballads. 
They are gay and charming, but they have the defect 
which impairs the value of most literature of that period 
— their sentiment is a little insincere or shallow. It was 



Dryden and the Classical School xiii 

the cynical age of "the gay monarch, " when gallantry 
took the place of love, and the art of compliment was 
developed at the expense of spontaneous feeling. 

With this gay band of courtly singers the old lyric 
school died out. It is true that the eighteenth century 
had its popular songs, as every age has. The writers of 
librettos for operas — of whom John Gay was the most 
successful — sometimes provided good singing-verses. 
A good drinking-song or love-song was occasionally in- 
troduced into a drama, as in Shakespeare's time. And 
the feeling of national military glory produced a number 
of patriotic songs which are still sung, especially the 
world-famous Rule Britannia of James Thomson. But 
on the whole the songs of the eighteenth century lack 
either spontaneity of feeling or freedom of movement. 

The explanation of this fact is to be found in a new 
tendency which began to show itself in English poetry 
during the latter part of the seventeenth century. Par- 
ticular ideas and methods then began to prevail in liter- 
ary art and continued to hold sway through the greater 
part of the eighteenth century, which were unfavorable 
to the life of the simple lyric, or song. During the period 
from 1660 to 1700, John Dryden was the leading figure 
in this new movement. 

II 

DRYDEN AND THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL 

John Dryden was born in 1631 in a country family 
of Puritan tendencies. He was twenty-three years the 
junior of John Milton, and came to manhood at the time 
when Milton's political career was closing. At this time 



xiv Introduction 

a rapid transformation in the feelings of the nation took 
place. The seriousness of Puritan days fell into dis- 
favor, and opinions were no longer held, even by the 
better men of the court and city, with the old earnest- 
ness. Dry den is characteristic of the new age in this re- 
spect. His political and religious convictions constantly 
changed according to circumstances. He threw himself 
without reserve or scruple upon the life of London, fol- 
lowing the moves of its great political and social game 
with ready interest, and seeking his advantage where he 
could find it. 

His brilliant poetry, therefore, mirrors the interests of 
court and city from year to year, but it tells nothing of 
the inner, moral life of man, which is the subject of all 
of Milton's noble verse. His fine poem Annus Mirabilis, 
for instance, is a chronicle of the remarkable year 1666, 
telling the story of the great fire of London, in which 
the old St. Paul's Cathedral was destroyed, and the 
events of the war with Holland. Absalom and Ackito- 
phel is a satire aimed at a statesman who was out of 
favor; and The Hind and the Panther, written in 1687, 
when the Catholic king, James II, was on the throne, is 
an argument in favor of the Roman Church. When his 
pen was not busy with political affairs it was chiefly oc- 
cupied in writing plays, in which, he himself said, he had 
no higher purpose than to delight the age in which he 
lived. Even his two odes for music, by which he is repre- 
sented in our pages, would not have been written except 
for the needs of a London musical society. 

Neither his life, therefore, nor the substance of his 
poetry excites the interest that we feel in everything that 
Milton did or wrote. But, on the other hand, as a writer 
and literary artist, Dryden commands our admiration 



Dryden and the Classical School xv 

and respect. The one cause to which he was always 
faithful was the improvement of English letters. He 
not only advanced this cause by his own poems and 
criticisms, but he was able by the force of his personality 
to create in the society of men of the world a greater in- 
terest in questions of literary art and criticism than had 
ever been shown before. Statesmen and courtiers, as 
well as professional rimers, used to gather about him in 
his customary seat in the bow-window of Will's coffee- 
house, discussing the relative merits of rimed and blank 
verse, the doctrines of French literary critics, or ques- 
tions of usage and style in English prose. 

Nearly every literary tendency of the following cen- 
tury is represented in Dryden. It is true that a more 
sincere and wholesome moral tone was restored to poetry 
and prose at the beginning of the century by Pope and 
Addison; but in every other respect Dryden is entitled to 
the honor of establishing the principles of the " classical 
school, " of which Pope and Johnson were the great 
eighteenth-century leaders. 

The great characteristic that distinguishes the classical 
school is its interest in literary form. Dryden, Pope, and 
Johnson always kept in view the object of improving and 
correcting English style. Of course they recognized that 
a poet must have lively feelings, a quick fancy, and 
worthy ideas, but they preferred to emphasize the fact 
that he must also learn the art of expression. For the 
poet's art is after all the art of writing well, the art of 
saying what men think and feel with more elegance and 
attractiveness than they can say it themselves, or as 
Pope puts it, 

"What oft was thought, but ne'er so well exprest." 



xvi Introduction 






To be a poet in this .sense, it was not enough, according 
to Dry den, Pope, o,nd Johnson, to have something to 
say, and to trust to one's natural gifts or inspiration for 
the fitting utterance of it. Study, practice, knowledge 
of the speech and manners of good society, and the imi- 
tation of Latin and French masters of style, especially 
of Horace and Cicero — all were necessary means to the 
end. 

The value to English literature of these ideas can 
hardly be over-estimated. English prose and verse were 
in need of such careful attention to style, and they will 
always be better on account of it. But a result of more 
doubtful value — especially to lyric poetry — also at- 
tended it. As writing became more careful and studied, 
it grew less spontaneous and natural. The simplicity of 
nature was less valued than the elegance and art of Latin 
style; and hence an artificial diction grew up, the so- 
called " poetic diction" of the eighteenth century, in 
which the natural, easy flow of common speech was re- 
placed by deliberate precision and elegance of style, and 
the common terms of every-day life and business were 
avoided as unworthy of the dignity of verse. 

Another characteristic of the poets of the classical 
school is that they w T rite on a limited range of sub- 
jects, and this is closely connected wdth their careful 
attention to style and manner. Literature in their 
opinion is chiefly meant for cultivated society, as it is 
found at the centers of culture and good manners, 
and concerns itself with the interests of such society. 
Therefore they seldom treat with strength and fervor 
the subjects which awaken the deepest emotions in 
simple and natural men: they are never mystical 
or passionate or highly enthusiastic; and their love- 



Dryden and the Classical School xvii 

poetry, of which indeed there is very little, is usually 
rather gay and graceful, like that of the song-writers of 
the Restoration-period, than strong and ardent. The 
life of the poor and humble naturally they seldom touched 
upon, except occasionally for comic effect, since the ele- 
gance of poetry could not stoop to low or vulgar subjects. 
Nor had they any interest in the wild and free life of 
nature: the beauties of hill and stream and lake at- 
tracted them chiefly as they served to ornament town- 
life in parks and gardens. 

The decline of the simple lyric, or song, under the in- 
fluence of the classical school has already been mentioned. 
Several reasons could be cited to account for this, but the 
simplest explanation is to be found in the development of 
a " poetic diction" which had peculiar merits for certain 
kinds of writing, but was unfavorable to the simple lyric 
because it lacks the first essential of singing- verse — a 
natural and easy flow. Indeed, any age which gives it- 
self largely to the study of style is likely to be too self- 
conscious to write good simple lyrics. 

In certain other, less simple kinds of lyric, however, 
the classical poets particularly excelled. One of these is 
the light verse of social life — vers de societe, as it is 
usually called, — in which little incidents or occasions 
arising from the social customs of a cultivated circle of 
people are treated with delicate fancy and sentiment. The 
poems of Matthew Prior, Pope's contemporary, are re- 
garded as the model for all such verses in English; and 
Ambrose Philips's lines To Charlotte Pulteney are a 
charming example. But the chief contribution of the 
classical school to lyric poetry was the perfecting of the 
ode, the noblest of lyric forms. The ode is less intimate 



xviii Introduction 

and personal than other kinds of lyric, and deals with 
large and lofty themes. For this reason it was well 
adapted to the tastes of the classical period, and its 
miaster-poets delighted to use their trained hands in 
shaping its elaborate structure and adorning it w T ith the 
noble ornaments of style. Nearly all of them worked in 
this form, but Dryden, Collins, and Gray excelled in it, 
and handed it down, in perfected form, to the nineteenth- 
century poets. 

Ill 
GRAY AND COLLINS 

The classical school held undisputed sway in English 
literature during Pope's life-time, a period of over fifty 
years (1688-1744). Nor was its useful work of correcting 
and refining English style completed even then. The 
ideas and methods which it had introduced continued 
to control the great body of English writing in prose and 
verse until almost the end of the eighteenth century. 
But very soon after Pope's death there began to appear 
signs of opposition, — or, if that is too strong a w T ord, a 
spirit of change, a reaching-out in various directions for 
different interests and new sources of inspiration. Among 
the young poets of the new generation, even among those 
who had no thought of revolt from the authority of 
Pope, a dislike of the narrow limitations of town-life and 
society begins to be manifested, a desire for fresh and 
original views of nature and human life. William Collins 
and Thomas Gray, the best poets of the middle of the 
century, show this new spirit, each in his own way. 

William Collins was born in 1721, in the town of 



Gray and Collins xix 

Chichester, southern England, where, says his biographer, 
"his father was a hatter of good reputation." He went to 
Winchester School, and later took his Bachelor's degree 
at Magdalen College, Oxford, after suffering all the in- 
conveniences and anxieties that attend a student of little 
means. The rest of his life can best be told in the words 
of his benefactor and critic, the great Doctor Johnson: 

"He now (about 1744) came to London a literary ad- 
venturer with many projects in his head, and very little 
money in his pockets. He designed many works; but his 
great fault was irresolution; or the frequent calls of im- 
mediate necessity broke his scheme, and suffered him to 
pursue no settled purpose. A man doubtful of his din- 
ner, or trembling at a creditor, is not much disposed to 
abstracted meditation, or remote inquiries. . . . He 
planned several tragedies, but he only planned them. 
He wrote now and then odes and other poems, and did 
something, however little. 

"About this time I fell into his company. His ap- 
pearance was decent and manly; his knowledge consider- 
able, his views extensive, his conversation elegant, and 
his disposition cheerful. By degrees I gained his con- 
fidence; and one day was admitted to him when he was 
immured by a bailiff l that was prowling in the street. 
On this occasion recourse was had to his book-sellers, 
who, on the credit of a translation of Aristotle's Poetics 
which he engaged to write, . . . advanced as much 
money as enabled him to escape into the country. He 
showed me the guineas safe in his hand. Soon after- 
wards his uncle, Mr. Martin, a lieutenant-colonel, left 
him about two thousand pounds; a sum which Collins 
could scarcely think exhaustible and which he did not 

1 A sheriff's officer, sent to arrest, him if he should leave his room. 



xx Introduction 

live to exhaust. The guineas were then repaid, and the 
translation neglected. 

"But man is not born for happiness. Collins, who, 
while he studied to live, felt no evil but poverty, no sooner 
lived to study, than his life was assailed by more dreadful 
calamities, disease and insanity. . . . 

"The latter part of his life cannot be remembered but 
with pity and sadness. He languished some years under 
that depression of mind which enchains the faculties 
without destroying them, and leaves reason the knowl- 
edge of right without the power of pursuing it. These 
clouds which he perceived gathering on his intellects, he 
endeavored to disperse by travel, and passed into France; 
but found himself constrained to yield to his malady, and 
returned. He was for some time confined in a house of 
lunatics, and afterwards retired to the care of his sister 
in Chichester, where death, in 1756 [in fact 1759], came 
to his relief. 

"After his return from France, the writer of this 
character paid him a visit at Islington, where he was 
waiting for his sister, whom he had directed to meet 
him: there was then nothing of disorder discernible in his 
mind by any but himself; but he had withdrawn from 
study, and traveled with no other book than an English 
Testament, such as children carry to the school: when 
his friend took it into his hand, out of curiosity to see 
what companion a man of letters had chosen, 'I have 
but one book/ said Collins, 'but that is the best/ 

"Such was the fate of Collins, with whom I once de- 
lighted to converse, and whom I yet remember with 
tenderness. " 

After writing so sympathetically of his life, Doctor 
Johnson speaks thus of his work as a poet: 



[ 



Gray and Collins xxi 

"Mr. Collins was a man of extensive literature, and of 
vigorous faculties. He was acquainted not only with the 
learned tongues, but with the Italian, French, and Span- 
ish languages. He had employed his mind chiefly upon 
works of fiction, and subjects of fancy; and, by indulging 
some peculiar habits of thought, was eminently delighted 
with those flights of imagination which pass the bounds 
of nature, and to which the mind is reconciled only by 
a passive acquiescence in popular traditions. He loved 
fairies, genii, giants, and monsters; he delighted to rove 
through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the 
magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the water- 
falls of Elysian gardens. . . . His poems are the pro- 
ductions of a mind not deficient in fire, nor unfurnished 
with knowledge either of books or life, but somewhat ob- 
structed in its progress by deviation in quest of mistaken 
beauties." 

The works in which Collins chiefly shows the love of 
supernatural and unreal beings, for which this critic 
judges him so severely, are his Oriental Eclogues, written 
in his youth, and his remarkable Ode on the Superstitions 
of the Scottish Highlands, in which he describes with great 
imaginative power the midnight deeds of kelpies, giants, 
and other creatures such as Doctor Johnson mentions. 
But even in treating real subjects, as in the Ode to Eve- 
ning or the Ode written in 1746, Collins often succeeds in 
giving to nature itself a strange effect of fairy unreality. 
The contrast between his themes, and the well-known 
things of common life treated by Dryden and Pope and 
Addison, is clearly brought out by Doctor Johnson's 
phrases, " subjects of fancy" and " flights of imagination 
which pass the bounds of nature." Doctor Johnson of 
course thought that he was "in quest of mistaken beau- 



xxii Introduction 

ties," but the time was to come when Collins's odd and 
original taste would be accounted a sign of poetical gen- 
ius, and he would be hailed as the most glorious of the 
predecessors of the " romantic school" of poets in the 
nineteenth century. For these poets (Coleridge, Keats, 
Shelley, and others) also avoided the well-worn paths of 
every-day custom, and sought for strange beauties in the 
wild and unfamiliar aspects of nature. 

Thomas Gray, the other great poet of the middle of 
the century, was a much more careful and accomplished 
writer than Collins, and he was hardly less original in 
his tastes and interests. Unlike Collins, he kept his 
fancy under the steady control of judgment and reason, 
but by living apart, as he always chose to do, from the 
centers of literary fashion, he was able to look at nature 
and literature with a freer mind, and find sources of in- 
spiration and delight which hardly any of his contempor- 
aries shared in, though later generations have approved 
his tastes, and sympathized with them. 

He was born in London in 1716, the son of parents of 
moderate means; but most of his early life was passed 
in or near the village of Stoke Pogis, about seventeen 
miles from the city. His school-days were spent at 
Eton College, the towers of whose buildings can be seen 
from Stoke Pogis churchyard. After leaving Cambridge 
University without a degree, he traveled on the Conti- 
nent with his school friend, Horace Walpole, studying 
the monuments of the past in Italy, and storing his mind 
with varied images of human customs and natural scenery. 

On his return to England, he took up his residence 
after some months of uncertainty and anxiety, in the 
rooms to which he was entitled as fellow of Peterhouse — 



Gray and Collins xxiii 

one of the oldest colleges of Cambridge University. 
Here, and in the neighboring college of Pembroke, he 
spent the remaining thirty years of his life, except for a 
short period of three years in London. He dreaded the 
life of the capital, with its thousand conflicting interests; 
and though it was known that his wit and learning would 
have fitted him for the society of Johnson, Garrick, and 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, he could hardly ever be drawn 
from his retirement. He was doubly unfortunate in that 
he was too fastidious to enjoy general society, and at the 
same time had the melancholy temperament which suf- 
fers deeply in solitude; but he preferred the misery of 
loneliness to the petty irritations of social life. 

The monotony of his college existence was broken only 
by the quiet pleasures of vacations spent at his mother's 
home at Stoke Pogis, and by occasional tours — his 
" Lilliputian journeys," he called them — to various re- 
mote parts of Great Britain. His taste for mountain 
scenery was one of the most striking signs of his origi- 
nality and independence of mind. In Queen Anne's time 
the wild mountainous regions of the earth, which are 
now the favorite haunts of sportsmen and nature-lovers, 
were regarded as horrible excrescences on the face of the 
globe, the home of natural terrors and human degrada- 
tion. Addison, for instance, wrote no more, in his journal, 
of his trip across the Alps, than that it was a "a very 
troublesome journey." Later in the century a growing 
taste for mountain scenery declared itself, but Doctor 
Johnson wrote from the north of Scotland — with humor- 
ous exaggeration, it is true — that he had seen no scenery 
equal to that of Hyde Park, London. In view of the 
common indifference, Gray's sensitiveness to all phases 
of natural beauty is remarkable. He visited Wales and 



xxiv Introduction 

the Highlands of Scotland, and he deserves the credit of 
discovering the peculiar attractions of nature in the 
mountainous lake region of northwestern England, which 
was to be the home of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, 
and many other poets of the nineteenth century. He 
wrote that the mountains ought to be visited in pilgrim- 
age once every year. 

In many other ways Gray displayed a keen curiosity 
about things which the classicists had regarded as insig- 
nificant. He was a man with singularly broad intellec- 
tual interests. But it is still more to his credit — for it 
shows the breadth of his sympathy and the goodness of 
his heart — that he devoted his greatest poem, the im- 
mortal. Elegy ^ to celebrating the lives of the poor and 
ignorant, not in the spirit of comedy, not to display the 
deformities of low life with degrading realism, but with 
deep and tender feeling for their humble heroism and 
their lost opportunities. Such sympathy was a new note 
in English literature. It won an immediate response 
from the hearts of all readers, and helped to bring about 
the broader interest in humanity which has been charac- 
teristic of all nineteenth-century poetry and life. 

Nearly all of Gray's poetry is of the finest quality. 
But it is unhappily very small in bulk. His solitude did 
not offer him a variety of subjects suited to his scholarly 
and elegant style, and his constitutional melancholy, 
which increased rather than diminished in middle age, 
made the effort of composition almost impossible. He 
died in 1771, and was buried in the churchyard at Stoke 
Pogis. 



Goldsmith and Johnson xxv 

IV 
GOLDSMITH AND JOHNSON 

Doctor Johnson's warm-hearted sympathy with 
Collins's sufferings did not affect his unfavorable judg- 
ment on his works; and his strictures on the poems of 
Gray were even more severe, though he made an excep- 
tion in favor of the Elegy. Johnson was the leader of the 
classical school in the second half of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, the inheritor of the tradition of Dryden and Pope. 
He was a sensible, positive, clear-headed man, who dis- 
liked everything vague and romantic, and believed in 
the usefulness of established customs and beliefs. In the 
poems of Collins and Gray he saw new tendencies which 
appeared to him singular and erratic; and he opposed 
them stoutly, just as he opposed revolutionary tendencies 
in politics and religion. 

His classicism, however, was on a broader basis than 
that of Dryden or Pope. He derived his literary inspira- 
tion from the social life of a civilized community, as his 
predecessors had done; but his enjoyment of London was 
not due to the advantages of living in the small circle of 
aristocratic culture. He loved it because his heart 
warmed to humanity in the crowded life of Fleet Street 
and the Strand, his depression of spirits was lightened by 
sympathy with others in the common sadness of life, 
and the powers of his mind were brought into play in 
conversation with his equals. Indeed, if city-life always 
offered such society as Johnson gathered about him, 
there are few who would not prefer it to the charms of 
retirement and the beauties of nature. Edmund Burke, 



xxvi Introduction 

the statesman, Sir Joshua Reynolds, the painter, and 
David Garrick, the actor, were among those who visited 
him in his rooms, dined with him at his tavern, or met 
him at the weekly sessions of the Saturday Club. 

The member of this circle with whom we are chiefly 
concerned is Oliver Goldsmith, who was laughed at and 
beloved by them all. 

Goldsmith, the son of a poor Irish vicar, did not come 
to London until he was almost thirty. Four years later 
he began to write essays, under the name of The Citizen 
of the World, for a periodical paper, but he was thirty- 
seven years old when his first important poem, The 
Traveller, appeared (in 1765), and during the same year 
the immortal Vicar of Wakefield was written and printed. 
At the age of forty he began to write for the stage; and 
the famous play She Stoops to Conquer was produced in 
1773. In this late appearance upon the literary scene, 
and the almost accidental discovery of his vocation as a 
man of letters, we can find part of the secret of Gold- 
smith's peculiar charm. For he learned and loved life 
before he thought of literature. Between his birth in 
1728 and his arrival in London lies a history of poverty, 
vagabondage, carelessness, and kindness, which is more 
interesting than fiction. Though he was a wonderfully 
skilful and graceful writer, he was really an amateur in 
literature, turning his hand to this or that as the occa- 
sion offered; but in whatever form he wrote he always 
had the happy naturalness of one who gives himself to 
life without a single reserve of pride or prudence. 

The story of his wanderings is spoiled in a brief and 
dry statement. It should be read in Irving's Life. He 
was sent to Trinity College, Dublin, when he was seven- 



Goldsmith and Johnson xxvii 

teen, and helped to pay his way by acting as a kind 
of servant in the college. After three years of idleness, 
his friends sent him to Edinburgh University, believing 
that they could make a doctor of him. Humiliated by 
his poverty, yet scattering his money, when he had it, 
with careless or generous profusion, he found himself in 
serious difficulties after a time, and escaped to the 
Continent. He continued his medical studies, at least 
nominally, at the University of Leyden, but without 
graduating started, penniless, on a tour through France 
and Switzerland. Walking from town to town, begging his 
food and lodging, sometimes earning his way by playing 
dance-tunes on his flute and singing ballads to a crowd 
of villagers, he arrived after some months in northern 
Italy. It is thought that he found more serious difficul- 
ties here in existing, and there is reason to believe that 
the gifted vagabond amused the students of the Italian 
universities by taking part in some public speaking- 
exercises. 

The stories of his travels are somewhat vague, and we 
do not know how he finally drifted to London in 1756. 
During his first years in the city he tried several occupa- 
tions, and began the hack-work for grasping publishers 
which he was obliged to continue all his life. But all 
literary adventurers and aspirants seem to have been 
able to find the way, sooner or later, to Doctor Johnson; 
and to the kindness of this great lover of men Goldsmith 
owed the publication of his Vicar of Wakefield, which 
brought him fame and made his future career more 
comfortable. „ 

Goldsmith was not in any sense a literary rebel. He 
did not find, as Collins did, that the poetry of the classi- 
cal school was lacking in fancy and enthusiasm. He did 



xxviii Introduction 

not go deliberately in search of novel inspiration. Living 
in the circle of Doctor Johnson, he accepted the traditions 
of the past age, wrote on familiar themes, and employed, 
in most of his poems, the heroic couplet of Dryden 
and Pope, and the particular kind of " poetic diction " 
that goes with that form. In as far, therefore, as we find 
new literary motives and a new spirit in his work, we 
must attribute them, not to deliberate innovation, but 
first to the fact that the age was growing broader in its 
sympathies, and, secondly and chiefly, to Goldsmith's 
love of life, and his instinctive trust in his own feelings. 
He was too kind of heart to use satire, the great literary 
weapon of the classical school, even in the gentle and 
persuasive manner of Addison. Satire aims to correct 
faults in culture and manners; it is peculiar to a culti- 
vated society: but Goldsmith's themes are the common 
joys and sorrows which bind together in the fellowship 
of humanity the ignorant and the learned, the rude and 
the polished, the poor and the rich. 

If he does not satirize, however, he can denounce in- 
dignantly. He is the champion of innocence and simplic- 
ity of heart, especially when he finds them, as he usually 
does, among the poor and humble of the earth, and 
runs a valiant tilt against their mighty oppressors when 
occasion offers. In The Deserted Village he goes a step 
farther than Gray in the Elegy. For, while Gray pictures 
with fine sympathy the obscure and limited lives of the 
poor, Goldsmith is more frank and draws their miseries 
too. Nor is he satisfied with an appeal to our sympathy. 
He indignantly demands of society the remedy of their 
ills, protesting that they are not necessary, but artificial, 
not caused by nature, but due to luxury and vice among 
the upper classes. In his tender and eloquent lines, we 



Cowper and Burns xxix 

hear a prophecy of the democratic uprising of a later 
generation, and even, beyond that, of the great move- 
ment for social reform and justice in our own day. 



V 

COWPER AND BURNS 

The feeling of sympathy with all classes of mankind, 
and especially with the poor and oppressed, spread 
rapidly in the last years of the eighteenth century; and 
other changes of taste and feeling more or less closely 
connected with this, had also been gradually gaining 
force. The custom of seeking relief from the petty in- 
terests of society in the freedom and beauty of nature 
was not so exceptional now as it had been in Gray's 
time: it was no longer considered odd to prefer the coun- 
try to the city. A sentimental love of solitude and 
melancholy had come indeed to be a fashionable mood in 
poetry; and the charms of twilight reverie, which had 
been revealed by Gray's Elegy, were very much over- 
worked by many imitators. But under the cover of this 
passing fashion the deeper and stronger emotions, which 
had been repressed for so long, were finding a way to 
express themselves. Even sentimentality was a relief 
after the exclusive sway of judgment and good sense dur- 
ing the past century. 

Other minor changes accompanied these: a now love 
of animals, for instance, and a new interest in the earlier 
and simpler periods of history and literature, when art 
and manners had not repressed the childlike enthusiasms 
of the race. We cannot go into these here. It is enough 



xxx Introduction 

to note that the interests of thoughtful people were turn- 
ing from the special culture of town-society to the sim- 
plicity of nature and common life. 

The result of these changes, when they had gone on a 
little longer, was to be a great revival of lyric poetry. 
The generation that immediately followed the end of the 
eighteenth century is made illustrious by the names of 
Wordsworth and Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, and Byron. 
But such a result could hardly have been foretold by one 
who observed the course of English poetry during the 
last twenty years of the eighteenth century. Instead of 
a new access of energy, there was a noticeable decline 
during these years, and it is generally considered that 
they form one of the dullest periods in the history of 
modern poetry. 

The explanation of this phenomenon is to be found in 
the force of inertia. The forms and methods taught by the 
classical school were still kept alive by custom, though 
the ideas which had produced them had now spent their 
energy. On the other hand, the new ideas which were 
arising to take their place had not yet become clear and 
definite. No one could foresee the future with its great 
changes or foretell in what direction the world would 
move forward to new hopes and enthusiasms. A time 
of dulness and discouragement preceded, as it often does, 
a new outburst of energy. 

In its leading poet, William Cowper, the character of 
this period is well illustrated. There is an interesting 
contrast between the lives of Addison and Pope, the 
leading writers of the opening of the century, and that 
of Cowper. Pope and Addison had lived in the fashion- 
able circles of London, surrounded by suitors and ad- 
mirers, leaders of hostile literary factions, playing their 



Cowper and Burns xxxi 

parts in the political and social intrigues of the time. 
Cowper, on the other hand, after a few years in the capi- 
tal, had withdrawn from "the great Babel" to find com- 
fort and solace in the peace of country-life. Henceforth, 
his life was spent in the home of his friends, the Unwins, 
at Huntingdon and in the village of Olney; at their fire- 
side he found the only audience he needed to call out his 
powers in conversation; and his years of leisure slipped 
away, without monotony or tedium, in the simple pleas- 
ures of gardening, amateur carpentry, country- walks, and 
books. The only shadow — but it was a very dark one 
— that overhung this placid life was his fear of the recur- 
rence of the religious melancholia to which he was subject. 
His poetry differs no less than his life from Pope's. 
The subjects he treats in his long and rambling poem 
The Task are such as might occur in the conversation of 
a quiet country family, or would be suggested by the ob- 
servations of many leisurely country-walks. Descrip- 
tions of the broad orderly English landscape; pictures of 
the village street, drawn in small compass like minia- 
ture paintings, but tingling with life; shrewd but kindly 
sketches of provincial character; quiet, earnest reflec- 
tions on life and religion — these are what the reader 
learns to expect of Cowper. But there is also sterner 
matter. Cowper felt the appeal for justice and liberty 
which had gone out from the hearts of the poor and op- 
pressed, and was stirred with anger at the indifference of 
the happy and prosperous: 

" There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; 
It does not feel for man." 

A still deeper and stronger note — the note of despair 
and tragedy — is heard in sonic of his shorter poems, such 



xxxii Introduction 

as The Castaway y written when the fear that overshad- 
owed his mind had become acute. No note so piercing 
had been heard before in eighteenth-century poetry. 

Indeed we find in Cowper almost all of the character- 
istics that are most marked in his great successor, William 
Wordsworth. He has Wordsworth's depth of feeling, 
his simplicity of language, his minute and fond obser- 
vation of little things in nature. Is is hard to see why 
he should not also have had Wordsworth's gift of free and 
happy lyric utterance. But he did not have it. His 
lyric poems (except the humorous ones) have none of the 
free movement of songs. They proceed with the deliber- 
ate pace of middle age, conscious of a load of thought and 
care, and anxiously on guard against sudden starts of 
enthusiasm and joy. Cowper, in short, has all that a 
great lyric poet needs to have, except joy and freedom of 
heart. He could not foresee the future, and the weight 
of inertia lay upon his spirit, 

"Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life." 

Two things were needed to rouse the dormant energies 
of the time, and set free the enthralled spirit of lyric 
poetry. One was the shock of some great event, to sweep 
away ancient customs in a dramatic catastrophe, and 
clear the stage for new hopes and enthusiasms. The 
other was a new voice in poetry, the voice of one who 
had learned the art of song in some other school than the 
customs of the past age. The first of these needs was 
met by the French Revolution of 1 789-1 793. When the 
mob of Paris stormed the Bastille on the fourteenth of 
July, 1789, it seemed to be inspired by nothing nobler 
than a mad desire for destruction. But in such wild 
deeds great historic epochs sometimes begin. A wave of 



Cowper and Burns xxxiii 

enthusiasm for Liberty spread over the western world. 
The repressed hopes of mankind changed suddenly into 
confident joy, and a new age began, filled with ardor and 
energy. 

In the years immediately following the Revolution, 
England also heard the new voice that was so much 
needed as an inspiration to lyric poetry. It was the 
voice of Robert Burns, singing the old melodies of Scot- 
land to new verses in his native dialect. 

Burns's life is like one of Shakespeare's tragedies, full 
of storm and passion, and ending in gloom, but shot 
through with the light of human sympathy, mirth, and 
tenderness, and enriched by an infinite variety of emo- 
tions. 

He was born in 1759 on a farm near the town of Ayr, 
in a two-room cottage of clay and stone. His father, 
William Burns, was a "crofter" or "cotter" (one who 
works a small rented farm), whose land consisted of seven 
acres. During the first seven years of the poet's life, the 
family circumstances, though restricted enough, were 
not worse than those of most small farmers; but in 1766 
William Burns, in the hope of providing better means 
for the education of his sons, rented a more costly farm, 
and became encumbered with debt. Robert's schooling 
ended prematurely, and the boy had to do a man's work 
on the farm in order to save the expense of a hired la- 
borer. When he was eighteen his father again removed 
to a farm as poor as the others, and continued the hope- 
less struggle with poverty until his death in 17S4. 

The boy's life, however, was not barren or uninterest- 
ing, in spite of bitter material difficulties. His father had 
the intellectual vigor and ambition of the best Scotch 



XXXIV 



Introduction 



countrymen, and he taught his son in daily intercourse 
many valuable things which he could not have learned 
at school. There were a few good books in the cottage; 
and from his mother and a household servant by the 
name of Betty Davidson, he learned nearly all of the 
store of Scotch ballads and songs. The picture drawn 
in The Cotter's Saturday Night of just such a home as his 
own does not lead one to look with scorn on the simple 
culture of a Scottish peasant's household. 

There was of course a good deal of social life, too, in 
Ayr and neighboring villages, in which Burns took a 
lively part. His God-fearing father tried to restrain him 
in his eager pursuit of experience; but his genial, free 
nature responded to companionship, and he was wel- 
comed as a favorite and leader in the tap-rooms of inns, 
at dancing-parties and fairs, and on all occasions of 
country festivity. Among these associations he rapidly 
developed into the reckless, passionate, irresistible 
Burns that we know. Instead of the religious principles 
of his father, he followed as his guide in life the dictates 
of his heart, the impulses of his own nature. Hence 
arose all his joys and all his sorrows; and hence spring 
both the beauties and the blemishes of his poetry. 

The publication of his first volume of verses in 1786 
made a sudden change in Burns's life. He had been 
known about his home as a rimer, from his boyhood, 
but his poems had merely been recited or sung, or handed 
about in written copies. After their father's death in 
1784, Robert and Gilbert Burns tried to restore the fam- 
ily fortunes; but after a year or two of unavailing effort 
the poet decided, as so many Scotch farmers have done, 
to start again in the New World. In order to raise 
money for the journey, his friends persuaded him to pub- 



Cowper and Burns xxxv 

lish a little volume of the verses which he had been ac- 
cumulating for ten years. The volume appeared with 
the title Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect from a 
press in Kilmarnock. Through the patronage of well- 
to-do neighbors he was able to gather a number of guineas 
from this enterprise; his goods were packed, and his fare- 
wells said, when word arrived from Edinburgh that a 
well-known critic was expressing the highest admiration 
for the poems, and that a new edition w T as called for. 
Instead of sailing to the West Indies, Burns hurried to 
Edinburgh. He found a great reputation awaiting him 
there, and the charm of his talk and his easy good-fellow- 
ship with all classes increased the wonder aroused by his 
verses. He became the lion of society, and was feted and 
petted throughout the season. But when he returned 
to Edinburgh, the next year, he discovered the fickleness 
of fashion. Society had tired of its latest novelty, and 
he went home to resume his labor on the farm, worse 
off in some ways than if he had never been hailed as a 
famous poet. 

He now received an appointment as gauger of liquor- 
casks in the government revenue service, which in- 
creased his income; but unfortunately the work tended 
to encourage the dissolute and irregular habits which 
had been growing upon him. The farm which he had 
rented on his return from Edinburgh was at Ellisland, 
near Dumfries, and hither in 1788 he brought Jean 
Armour, whom he had married in some irregular way 
two years before. Henceforth his life is a story of broken 
resolutions, unavailing remorse, and ever-increasing indul- 
gence in " Scotch drink." He made good his irregular 
marriage, and worked hard, though intermittently, to 
improve the exhausted land of his farm; but at length, 



xxxvi Introduction 

worn out by dissipation and work, he sank rapidly into 
a kind of consumption, and died in 1796 in distressing 
and ignoble circumstances. Yet even in these last eight 
years, he did not forget his mission as the poet of his 
people. Not only Tarn 0' Shanter, a great narrative 
poem, but many of the songs that all English-speaking 
people know, were written at Ellisland. 

The appearance of Burns's poems was an important 
event in literature both because of what he wrote about 
and because of the way in w T hich he wrote. He brought 
poetry back to nature. In the eighteenth-century the 
subjects which appeal most to the heart, the simple 
emotions that all men share in, love, daily labor, the de- 
lights and temptations of the senses, had been unduly 
neglected, or they had been treated in a general and ab- 
stract way supposed to be in accordance with the dignity 
of letters. No English poet of the century, except Cow- 
per, Burns's contemporary, ventured to tell in verse his 
ow T n intimate personal experience; and Cowper's expe- 
rience of many of the simple emotions was exceedingly 
limited. Burns, on the other hand, entered into the in- 
cidents of common life with all the strength of natural 
feeling, and recorded them with their real details, while 
his blood was still stirring in his veins with the excite- 
ment they aroused. He had no " second thoughts " 
about his style. The words that came to him were the 
natural words in which his Scotch fellows and neighbors 
expressed their sorrow, joy, or mirth, only touched with 
a peculiar quality by his native genius, and shaped into 
song by the rhythm of some old musical air. As he 
himself said, in his jaunty way, he wrote "for fun. ,, 
This was a new method of composition in his time, in 



1 



Cowper and Burns xxxvii 

sharp contrast with the careful revision and study which 
most eighteenth-century poets devoted to finishing and 
perfecting their style. It produced an effect of life and 
vigor which had long been lacking in English lyric poetry, 
and showed that verse may be a true and natural form 
of expression even in a civilized age. 

The importance of Burns's poetry lies partly, too, in 
the facts of his life. He showed that poetry and fine 
feeling are as likely to be found among poor and simple 
people as in the cultured society of the world, that they 
are universal in human nature and not the exclusive 
possession of a class. It was the age of the French Revo- 
lution, which suddenly revealed the latent power in the 
mass of mankind, and started modern democracy on its 
troubled but triumphant way. Burns shared in the ex- 
citement caused all over Europe by this tremendous 
event, and his song A Man's a Man for a' that, written 
in 1795, became a rallying-cry for the spirit of revolt and 
discontent in England and Scotland. 1 But this was at 
the end of his life, a mere episode in the decline of his 
career. His real service to the cause of equality and 
justice was his whole life and work, for it revealed the 
greatness of soul in common humanity. He was the 
precursor of the quiet democratic revolution which has 
been going on in the world for over a hundred years, — 
of which the uprising in France was only the first alarm. 

1 Once, when he was called on for a toast at a dinner, he gave: " The last 
verse of the last chapter of the last book of Kings." 



ENGLISH LYRICS 
FROM DRYDEN TO BURNS 



LONG AND VARIED ODES 

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 
Opening Chorus 

From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 

This universal frame began: 
When Nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay 
And could not heave her head, 
The tuneful voice was heard from high, 

Arise, ye more than dead! 
Then cold and hot and moist and dry 
In order to their stations leap, 

And Music's power obey. 
From harmony, from heavenly harmony 

This universal frame began: 
♦ From harmony to harmony 
Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
The diapason closing full in Man. 

What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
When Jubal struck the chorded shell 
His listening brethren stood around, 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 
To worship that celestial sound. 
Less than a god they thought there could not dwell 
W'ithin the hollow of that shell 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 

3 



Long and Varied Odes 



The trumpet's loud clangor 25 

Excites us to arms, 
With shrill notes of anger 

And mortal alarms. 
The double double double beat 

Of the thundering drum 30 

Cries 'Hark! the foes come; 
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!' 



n 



The soft complaining flute 

In dying notes discovers 

The woes of hopeless lovers, 35 

Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. 



in 



Sharp violins proclaim 
Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
Fury, frantic indignation, 
Depth of pains, and height of passion 40 

For the fair disdainful dame. 



IV 



But oh! what art can teach, 
What human voice can reach 

The sacred organ's praise? 
Notes inspiring holy love, 45 

Notes that wing their heavenly ways 

To mend the choirs above. 



John Dryden 



Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
And trees unrooted left their place 

Sequacious of the lyre: 50 

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: 
When to her Organ vocal breath was given 
An Angel heard, and straight appear 'd — 

Mistaking Earth for Heaven. 

Grand Chorus 

As from the power of sacred lays 55 

The spheres began to move, 
And sung the great Creator's praise 

To all the blest above; 
So when the last and dreadful hour 
This crumbling pageant shall devour, 60 

The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
The dead shall live, the living die, 
And Music shall untune the sky. 

John Dryden 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR THE POWER OF 
MUSIC 



'T was at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son. 
— Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne; 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, 
(So should desert in arms be crown'd) ; 






S Long and Varied Odes 

The lovely Thais by his side 

Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 10 

In flower of youth and beauty's pride: — 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave deserves the fair! 15 

11 

Timotheus, placed on high 

Amid the tuneful quire, 

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: 

The trembling notes ascend the sky 

And heavenly joys inspire. 20 

The song began from Jove 

Who left his blissful seats above — 

Such is the power of mighty love! 

A dragon's fiery form belied the god; 

Sublime on radiant spires he rode 25 

When he to fair Olympia prest, 

And while he sought her snowy breast; 

Then round her slender waist he curl'd, 

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 

— The listening crowd admire the lofty sound; 30 

'A present deity!' they shout around: 
'A present deity!' the vaulted roofs rebound: 

With ravished ears 

The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god; 35 

Affects to nod 

And seems to shake the spheres. 

in 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: 



John Diyden 7 

The jolly god in triumph comes; 40 

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums! 

Flush'd with a purple grace 

He shows his honest face: 

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! 

Bacchus, ever fair and young, 45 

Drinking joys did first ordain; 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: 

Rich the treasure, 

Sweet the pleasure, 

Sweet is pleasure after pain. 50 



IV 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; 
Fought all his battles o'er again, 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the 

slain! 
The master saw the madness rise, 55 

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 
And while he Heaven and Earth defied 
Changed his hand and check'd his pride. 
He chose a mournful Muse 

Soft pity to infuse: 60 

He sung Darius great and good, 
By too severe a fate 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
Fallen from his high estate, 

And weltering in his blood; 65 

Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed ; 
On the bare earth exposed he lies 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 

— With downcast looks the joyless victor sale, 70 

Revolving in his alter'd soul 



Long and Varied Odes 

The various turns of Chance below; 
And now and then a sigh he stole, 
And tears began to flow. 



The mighty master smiled to see 75 

That love was in the next degree; 
'T was but a kindred-sound to move, 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 

Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. So 

'War," he sung, "is toil and trouble, 
Honor but an empty bubble; 
Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying; 

If the world be worth thy winning, 85 

Think, O think, it worth enjoying: 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
Take the good the gods provide thee! " 
— The many rend the skies with loud applause; 
So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. qo 

The prince, unable to conceal his pain. 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 
And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again: 05 

At length, with love and wine at once opprest, 
The vanquish 'd victor sunk upon her breast. 

VI 

Now strike the golden lyre again: 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! 
Break his bands of sleep asunder. too 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 



John Dryden 9 

Hark, hark! the horrid sound 

Has raised up his head: 

As awaked from the dead, 

And amazed, he stares around. 105 

" Revenge, revenge! " Timotheus cries, 
"See the Furies arise! 

See the snakes that they rear 

How they hiss in their hair, 

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! no 

Behold a ghastly band, 

Each a torch in his hand! 

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 

And unburied remain 

Inglorious on the plain: 115 

Give the vengeance due 

To the valiant crew! 

Behold how they toss their torches on high, 

How they point to the Persian abodes, 

And glittering temples of their hostile gods." 120 

— The princes applaud with a furious joy: 

And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; 

Thais led the way 

To light him to his prey, 

And like another Helen, fired another Troy! 125 

VII 

— Thus, long ago, 
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 

And sounding lyre 130 

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame; 
The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 133 



10 



Long and Varied Odes 



And added length to solemn sounds. 

With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 

— Let old Timotheus yield the prize 

Or both divide the crown; 

He raised a mortal to the skies; 

She drew an angel down! 



THE BARD 



140 



John Drxden 



"Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! 

Confusion on thy banners wait; 
Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing 

They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears! " 
— Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array: — 
Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance; 
"To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering 
lance. 

2 

On a rock, whose haughty brow 15 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 

Robed in the sable garb of woe 
With haggard eyes the Poet stood 
(Loose his beard and hoary hair 

Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air), 20 

And with a master's hand and prophet's lire 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: 



Thomas Gray II 

"Hark, how each giant-oak and desert-cave 
Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 
O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, 25 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 



"Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 

That hush'd the stormy main: 30 

Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 

Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore they lie 35 

Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale. 
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; 

The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, 40 

Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
No more I weep; they do not sleep; 

On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 
I see them sit; they linger yet, 45 

Avengers of their native land: 
With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 

II 

1 

1 ' Weave the warp and weave the woof, 

The winding sheet of Edward 7 s race: 50 

Give ample room and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 



12 Long and Varied Odes 

Mark the year, and mark the night, 

When Severn shall re-echo with affright 

The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roof that ring, 55 

Shrieks of an agonizing king! 

She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs 
That tear st the bowels of thy mangled mate, 

From thee be bom, who o'er thy country hangs 
The scourge of heaven! What terrors round him wait! 60 
Amazement in his van, with flight combined, 
And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. 



'"Mighty victor, mighty lord, 

Low on his funeral couch he lies! 
Xo pitying heart, no eye, afford 65 

.4 tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable warrior fled? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born? 
Gone to salute the rising morn. 70 

Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: 
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, 75 

That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. 



'"Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
The rich repast prepare: 

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: 
Close by the regal chair 80 

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 

A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. 






Thomas Gray 13 

Heard ye the din of battle bray, 

Lance to lance, and horse to horse? 

Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 85 

And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. 

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, 
With many a foul and midnight murder fed, 

Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame, 
And spare the meek usurper's holy head! 90 

Above, below, the rose of snow, 

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: 
The bristled boar in infant-gore 

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, 95 

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and rectify his doom. 



ni 



' ' Edward, lo! to sudden fate 

{Weave we the woof: the thread is spun;) 
Half of thy heart we consecrate. 

{The web is wove: the work is done.) 9 100 

— Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
In yon bright track that fires the western skies 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 105 

Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail: — 
All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! no 



"Girt with many a baron bold, 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 



14 Long and Varied Odes 

And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
In bearded majesty, appear. 

In the midst a form divine! iij 

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line: 
Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face 
Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air. 

What strains of vocal transport round her play? 1 2z 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, 
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-color'd wings. 



"The verse adorn again 125 

Fierce war, and faithful love, 
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. 

In buskin'd measures move 
Pale grief, and pleasing pain, 

With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast: 130 

A voice as of the cherub-choir 

Gales from blooming Eden bear, 

And distant warblings lessen on my ear, 
That lost in long futurity expire. 
Fond impious man. think'st thou yon sanguine cloud 135 

Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me: with joy I see 

The different doom our fates assign: 140 

Be thine despair and sceptred care, 

To triumph and to die are mine." 
— He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 

Thomas Gray 



Thomas Gray 15 

THE PROGRESS OF POESY 



Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
From Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take; 
The laughing flowers that round them blow 5 

Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
Now the rich stream of music winds along 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; 
Now rolling down the steep amain 10 

Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: 
The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 



O Sovereign of the willing soul, 
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares 15 

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. 
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
Has curb'd the fury of his car 
And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. 
Perching on the sceptred hand 20 

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king 
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: 
Quench 'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 

3 
Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 25 

Temper'd to thy warbled lay. 



16 Long and Varied Odes 

O'er Idalia's velvet-green 

The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 

On Cytherea's day; 

With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 

Frisking light in frolic measures; 

Now pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet: 
To brisk notes in cadence beating 

Glance their many- twinkling feet. 35 

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: 

Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay: 
With arms sublime that float upon the air 

In gliding state she wins her easy way : 
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 40 

The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love 



Man's feeble race what ills await! 
Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! 45 

The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? 
Night, and all her sickly dews, 

Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry 50 

Tie gives to range the dreary sky: 
Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 



In climes beyond the solar road, 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 55 

The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 



Thomas Gray 17 

To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid, 

She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 60 

In loose numbers wildly sweet, 
Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. 
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, 
Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 
Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 65 



Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 

Isles that crown th' Aegean deep, 

Fields that cool Illissus laves, 

Or where Maeander's amber waves 

In lingering labyrinths creep, 70 

How do your tuneful echoes languish, 

Mute, but to the voice of anguish! 

Where each old poetic mountain 

Inspiration breathed around; 
Every shade and hallow 'd fountain 75 

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound: 
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, 

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. So 

When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 
They sought, O ALbion! next, thy sea-encircled coast. 

in 

1 

Far from the sun and summer-gale 
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, 
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 85 

To him the mighty Mother did unveil 



1 8 Long and Varied Odes 

Her awful face: the dauntless child 
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 
"This pencil take," she said, "whose colors clear 
Richly paint the vernal year: 90 

Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! 
This can unlock the gates of joy; 
Of horror that, and thrilling fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 



Nor second He, that rode sublime 95 

Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy 
The secrets of the abyss to spy: 

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: 
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze 

Where angels tremble while they gaze, 100 

He saw; but blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 

Two coursers of ethereal race, 105 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. 



Hark, his hands the lyre explore! 

Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. no 

But ah! 'tis heard no more — 

Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit 

Wakes thee now? Tho ? he inherit 

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, 

That the Theban eagle bear, 115 

Sailing with supreme dominion 

Thro' the azure deep of air; 



William Collins 19 

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun: 120 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate: 
Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 

Thomas Gray 



THE PASSIONS 

An Ode for Music 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 

While yet in early Greece she sung, 

The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 

Throng'd around her magic cell, 

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 5 

Possest beyond the Muse's painting; 

By turns they felt the glowing mind 

Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined: 

'Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 

FilPd with fury, rapt, inspired, 10 

From the supporting myrtles round 

They snatch'd her instruments of sound, 

And, as they oft had heard apart 

Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 

Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 15 

Would prove his own expressive power. 



First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewilder 'd laid, 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why. 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 20 



20 Long and Varied Odes 



n 



Next Anger rush'd; his eyes, on fire, 
In lightnings own'd his secret stings; 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 



in 

With woeful measures wan Despair, 25 

Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled: 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air, — 

'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. 

IV 

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, 

What was thy delighted measure? 30 

Still it whisperd promised pleasure. 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 
She call'd on Echo still through all the song; 35 

And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; 
And Hope enchanted smiled and waved her golden hair; — 



And longer had she sung: — but with a frown 

Revenge impatient rose: 40 

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down; 

And with a withering look 
The war-denouncing trumpet took 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 45 

And ever and anon he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat; 






William Collins 21 

And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side 

Her soul-subduing voice applied, 50 

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
his head. 

VI 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd: 

Sad proof of thy distressful state! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 55 

And now it courted Love, now raving calPd on Hate. 

VII 

With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retir'd; 

And from her wild sequester'd seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 60 

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: 

And dashing soft from rocks around 

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 65 

Round an holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

VIII 

But O! how altcr'd was its sprightlicr tone 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 70 

Her bow across her shoulder Hung, 

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, — 

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known! 



22 Long and Varied Odes 

The oak-crown'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, 75 

Satrys and Sylvan Boys, were seen 

Peeping from forth their alleys green: 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 



IX 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: 80 

He. with viny crown advancing, 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest: 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best: 
They would have thought who heard the strain 85 

They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
While, as his flying ringers kiss'd the strings, 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: 90 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; 

And he, amidst his frolic play, 

As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 

O Music! sphere-descended maid, 95 

Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! 

Why, goddess! why, to us denied, 

Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? 

As in that loved Athenian bower 

You learn'd an all-commanding power, 100 

Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd, 

Can well recall what then it heard. 

Where is thy native simple heart, 

Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? 

Arise, as in that elder time, 105 

Warm, energic, chaste, sublime! 



William Collins 23 

Thy wonders, in that god-like age, 

Fill thy recording Sister's page; — 

Tis said, and I believe the tale, 

Thy humblest reed could more prevail, no 

Had more of strength, diviner rage. 

Than all which charms this laggard age: 

E'en all at once together found, 

Cecilia's mingled world of sound:— 

O bid our vain endeavors cease: 1 1 5 

Revive the just designs of Greece: 

Return in all thy simple state! 

Confirm the tales her sons relate! 

William Collins 



SHORT ODES IN SIMPLE FORM 

'THE HEAVENS DECLARE THE GLORY OF GOD 1 



The spacious firmament on high, 

With all the blue ethereal sky, 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Their great Original proclaim : 

The unwearied sun from day to day 5 

Does his Creator's power display, 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an Almighty hand. 

11 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 

The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 10 

And nightly to the listening earth 

Repeats the story of her birth: 

Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 

And all the planets, in their turn, 

Confirm the tidings as they roll, 15 

And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

in 

What though in solemn silence all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 



Joseph Addison 25 

Amid their radiant orbs be found? 20 

In reason's ear they all rejoice 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
For ever singing, as they shine, 
"The hand that made us is Divine. ,, 

Joseph Addison 



ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
VICISSITUDE 

Now the golden Morn aloft 

Waves her dew-bespangled wing; 
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 

She woos the tardy Spring: 
Till April starts, and calls around 5 

The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 

New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 

Frisking ply their feeble feet; 10 

Forgetful of their wintry trance 

The birds his presence greet: 
But chief the sky-lark warbles high 
His trembling thrilling ecstasy; 
And lessening from the dazzled sight 15 

Melts into air and liquid light. 

Yesterday the sullen year 

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; 
Mute was the music of the air, 

The herd stood drooping by: 20 



26 Short Odes in Simple Form 

Their raptures now that wildly flow 
No yesterday nor morrow know; 
'Tis Man alone that joy descries 
With forward and reverted eyes. 



Smiles on past misfortune's brow 25 

Soft reflection's hand can trace, 
And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 

A melancholy grace; , 

While hope prolongs our happier hour, 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 30 

And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 

Still, where rosy pleasure leads, 

See a kindred grief pursue; 
Behind the steps that misery treads 

Approaching comfort view : 
The hues of bliss more brightly glow 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe, 
And, blended, form with artful strife 
The strength and harmony of life. 40 

See the wretch that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of pain. 
At length repair his vigor lost 

And breathe and walk again: 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 45 

The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening Paradise. 

Thomas Gray 



Thomas Gray 27 



ODE ON THE SPRING 

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear, 
Disclose the long-expecting flowers 

And wake the purple year! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat 5 

Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 
The untaught harmony of Spring: 
While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 

Their gathered fragrance fling. 10 

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader, browner shade, 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade, 
Beside some water's rushy brink 15 

With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardor of the crowd, 
How low, how little are the proud, 

How indigent the great! 20 

Still is the toiling hand of Care; 

The panting herds repose: 
Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows! 
The insect-youth are on the wing, 25 

Eager to taste the honied spring 
And float amid the liquid noon: 
Some lightly o'er the current skim, 
Some show their gaily-gilded trim 

Quick-glancing to the snn. $0 



Short Odes in Simple Form 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of Man: 
And they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began: 
Alike the Busy and the Gay 35 

But flutter thro' life's little day. 
In Fortune's varying colors drest; 
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chill'd by Age. their airy dance 

They leave, in dust to rest. 40 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

The sportive kind reply: 
"Poor moralist! and what art thou? 

A solitary fly! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 45 

Xo hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
No painted plumage to display: 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown : 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 

We frolic while 'tis May. " 50 

Thomas Grav 



ODE OX A DISTAXT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 

That crown the watery glade. 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade; 
And ye, that from the stately brow 5 

Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 



Thomas Gray 29 

Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver-winding way: 10 



Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! 

Ah fields beloved in vain! 
Where once my careless childhood stray'd, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 1 5 

A momentary bliss bestow, 
As waving fresh their gladsome wing 
My weary soul they seem to soothe. 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 20 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 

The paths of pleasure trace; 
Who foremost now delight to cleave 25 

With pliant arm thy glassy wave? 
The captive linnet which enthral? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed 

Or urge the flying ball? 30 

While some on earnest business bent 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty: 
Some bold adventurers disdain 3 5 

The limits of their little reign 
And unknown regions dare descry: 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind, 

And snatch a fearful joy. 40 



30 Short Odes in Simple Form 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when posse 
The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast: 
Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, 45 

Wild wit, invention ever new, 
And lively cheer, of vigor born; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light 

That fly th' approach of morn. 50 

Alas! regardless of their doom 

The little victims play; 
No sense have they of ills to come 

Nor care beyond to-day: 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The ministers of human fate 
And black Misfortune's baleful train! 
Ah show them where in ambush stand 
To seize their prey, the murderous band! 

Ah, tell them they are men! 

These shall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 

And Shame that skulks behind; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth 
That inly gnaws the secret heart, 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 

And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 
Then whirl the wretch from high 



Thomas Gray 31 

To bitter Scorn a sacrifice 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall try 75 

And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, 
That mocks the tear it forced to flow; 
And keen Remorse with blood defiled, 
And moody Madness laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 80 



Lo, in the vale of years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen, 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their queen: 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 85 

That every laboring sinew strains, 
Those in the deeper vitals rage: 
Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 

And slow-consuming Age. 90 



To each his sufferings: all are men, 

Condemn'd alike to groan; 
The tender for another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, 05 

Since sorrow never comes too late, 
And happiness too swiftly flies? 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more; — where ignorance is bli 

'Tis folly to be wise. 100 

Thomas Gray 



32 Short Odes in Simple Form 



HYMN TO ADVERSITY 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 

Thou tamer of the human breast, 
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 

The bad affright, afflict the best! 
Bound in thy adamantine chain 5 

The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 

When first thy Sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling child, design'd, 10 

To thee he gave the heavenly birth 

And bade to form her infant mind. 
Stern, rugged nurse; thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore; 
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 15 

And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. 



Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good. 20 

Light they disperse, and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe; 
By vain Prosperity received, 
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 

Wisdom in sable garb array'd, 25 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 

And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye that loves the ground, 



Thomas Gray 33 

Still on thy solemn steps attend: 

Warm Charity, the general friend, 30 

With Justice, to herself severe, 
And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 

Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head 

Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! 

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 35 

Nor circled with the vengeful band 

(As by the impious thou art seen), 

With thundering voice, and threatening mien, 

With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty; — 40 

Thy form benign, O goddess, wear, 

Thy milder influence impart, 
Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive, 45 

Teach me to love and to forgive, 
Exact my own defects to scan, 
What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. 

Thomas Gray 

ODE TO SIMPLICITY 

O Thou, by Nature taught 

To breathe her genuine thought 
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; 

Who first, on mountains wild, 

In Fancy, loveliest child, 5 

Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song! 

Thou, who with hermit heart, 
Disdain'st the wealth of art, 
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall; 



34 Short Odes in Simple Form 

But com'st, a decent maid 10 

In Attic robe array'd, 
O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call! 

By all the honey'd store 

On Hybla's thymy shore, 
By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear; 1 5 

By her whose love-lorn woe 

In evening musings slow 
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear: 

By old Cephisus deep, 

Who spread his wavy sweep 20 

In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat; 

On whose enamell'd side 

When holy Freedom died, 
No equal haunt allured thy future feet: — 

O sister meek of Truth, 25 

To my admiring youth 
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse! 

The flowers that sweetest breathe, 

Though Beauty culPd the wreath, 
Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues. 30 

While Rome could none esteem 

But Virtue's patriot theme, 
You loved her hills, and led her laureat band; 

But stay'd to sing alone 

To one distinguish 'd throne; 35 

And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land. 

No more, in hall or bower, 
The Passions own thy power; 
Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean: 






William Collins 35 

For thou hast left her shrine; 40 

Nor olive more, nor vine, 
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. 

Though taste, though genius, bless 

To some divine excess, 
Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; 45 

What each, what all supply 

May court, may charm our eye; 
Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul! 

Of these let others ask 

To aid some mighty task; 50 

I only seek to find thy temperate vale; 

Where oft my reed might sound 

To maids and shepherds round, 
And all thy sons, O Nature! learn my tale. 

William Collins 



ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blest! 
W T hen Spring, with dewy ringers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallow 'd mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 

By forms unseen their dirge is sung: 

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 

To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 1 

And Freedom shall awhile repair 

To dwell a weeping hermit there! 

William ( ollins 



36 Short Odes in Simple Form 



ODE TO EVENING 

If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 

May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear 

Like thy own solemn springs, 

Thy springs, and dying gales; 

O Nymph reserved, — while now the bright-hair'd sun 5 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With brede ethereal wove, 

O'erhang his wavy bed; 

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat 

With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 10 

Or where the beetle winds 

His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — 

Now teach me, maid composed, 

To breathe some soften'd strain 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit; 

As, musing slow, I hail 

Thy genial loved return. 

For when thy folding-star arising shows 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

The fragrant Hours, and Elves 

Who slept in buds the day, 

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge 
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, 

The pensive Pleasures sweet, 

Prepare thy shadowy car. 








William Collins 



William Collins 37 

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; 

Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, 30 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy religious gleams. 

Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 

That, from the mountain's side, 35 

Views wilds, and swelling floods, 

And hamlets brown, and dim-disco ver'd spires; 
And hears their simple bell; and marks o'er all 

Thy dewy ringers draw 

The gradual dusky veil. 40 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, , 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! 

While Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45 

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 

Affrights thy shrinking train 

And rudely rends thy robes; 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 50 

Thy gentlest influence own, 

And love thy favorite name! 

William Collins 



ELEGIES 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 5 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 

Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20 



Thomas Gray 39 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 



Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 
How jocund did they drive their team afield! 
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 30 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour: — 35 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 

If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 40 

Can storied urn or animated bust 
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: 



40 Elegies 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 50 

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 55 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 60 



Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes 

Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone 65 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 
Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 70 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 

With incense kindled at the Muse's Same. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 

Their sober wishes never Learn'd to stray; 

Along the cool sequester 'd vale of life 75 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 






Thomas Gray 41 

Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rimes and shapeless sculpture deckt, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply: 
And many a holy text around she strews, 
That teach the rustic moralist t6 die. 



For who, to dumb forge tfulness a prey, 85 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires; qd 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonor'd dead, 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 95 

Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

* Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; 100 

' There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
His listless Length at noon tide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook thai babbles by. 



42 Elegies 

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 105 

Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 



1 One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 

Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; no 

Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 



'The next with dirges due in sad array 
Slow through the church- way path we saw him borne, — 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the. lay 115 

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 

THE EPITAPH 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 

A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; 

Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth 

And melancholy mark'd him for her own. 1 20 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

Thomas Gray 







Oliver Goldsmith 



Oliver Goldsmith 43 

THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain, 

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, 

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 

And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed; 

Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5 

Seats of my youth when every sport could please, 

How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 

Where humble happiness endeared each scene! 

How often have I paused on every charm — 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10 

The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 

The decent church that topt the neighboring hill, 

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 

For talking age and whispering lovers made; 

How often have I blest the coming day 1 5 

When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 

And all the village train, from labor free, 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 

While many a pastime circled in the shade, 

The young contending as the old surveyed, 20 

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired: 

The dancing pair that simply sought renown 25 

By holding out to tire each other down; 

The swain mistrustlcss of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the place; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. 30 

These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these 

With sweet succession taught even toil to please; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, 

These were thy charms — but all these charms are tied. 



44 Elegies 

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 35 

Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green: 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 40 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lawping flies, 45 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries; 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 50 

111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay: 
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade — 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 55 

When once destroyed can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintained its man: 
For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more; 60 

His best companions, innocence and health; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain: 
Along the lawn where scattered hamlets rose, 65 

Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, 
And every want to opulence allied, 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that asked but little room, 70 



Oliver Goldsmith 45 

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
Lived in each look and brightened all the green, 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn, parent of the blissful hour, 75 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 80 

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 85 

Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose: 
I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill; 90 

Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt and all I saw: 
And as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue 
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 

Here to return, and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine, 
How happy he who crowns, in shades like these, 
A youth of labor with an age of ease, 100 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly. 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 
Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state, 105 

To spurn imploring famine from the gate: 



\6 Elegies 

But on he moves to meet his latter end. 

Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; 

Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, 

While resignation gently slopes the way; no 

And, all his prospects brightening to the last, 

His heaven commences ere the world be past. 

Sweet was the sound when oft, at evening's close, 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; 
There as I passed with careless steps and slow, 115 

The mingling notes came softened from below: 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
The playful children just let loose from school, 120 

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And rilled each pause the nightingale had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail; 125 

Xo cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread; 
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled — 
All but yon widowed, solitary thing 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; 150 

She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 
■ To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; 
She only left of all the harmless train, 135 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140 

A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 



Oliver Goldsmith 47 

Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 

Nor e'er had changed nor wished to change his place; 

Unpractised he to fawn or seek for power 145 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; 

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 

More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train; 

He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain: 150 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 

Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 

Claimed kindred there and had his claims allowed; 

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155 

Sat by his fire and talked the night away, 

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 

Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 160 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 

And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; 

But in his duty prompt at every call, 165 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all: 

And as a bird each fond endearment tries 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 1 70 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 

The reverend champion stood: at his control, 

Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, i 75 

And his last, faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorned the venerable place; 



48 Elegies 

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 

And fools who came to scoff remained to pray. 180 

The service past, around the pious man 

With steady zeal each honest rustic ran; 

Even children followed with endearing wile, 

And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. 

His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest; 185 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest; 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven: 

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; 190 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion skilled to rule, 195 

The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was and stern to view; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew: 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face; 200 

Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught, 205 

The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
The village all declared how much he knew: 
'T was certain he could write, and cipher too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage 
And even the story ran that he could gauge. 210 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 
For even though vanquished he could argue still, 
While words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 



Oliver Goldsmith 49 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 215 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame; the very spot 
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot: 
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220 

Low lies that house where nut-brown drafts inspired, 
Where graybeard Mirth and smiling Toil retired, 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 

The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
The whitewashed wall; the nicely sanded floor; 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; 
The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 230 

The pictures placed for ornament and use; 
The twelve good rules; the royal game of goose; 
The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, 
With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel gay; 
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 235 

Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
Vain, transitory splendors! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 240 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad, shall prevail; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 245 

Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round, 
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250 



50 Elegies 

Yes, let the rich deride, the proud disdain 
These simple blessings of the lowly train; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm than all the gloss of art. 
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 255 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfmed. 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, 260 

In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; 
And even while Fashion's brightest arts decoy, 
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey 265 

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; 270 

Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains; this wealth is but a name, 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss: the man of wealth and pride 275 

Takes up a space that many poor supplied — 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth; 2S0 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; 
Around the world each needful product flies 
For all the luxuries the world supplies; 

While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 285 

In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 



Oliver Goldsmith 5 1 

As some fair female, unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; 290 

But when those charms are past — for charms are frail, — 
When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress: 

Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed; 295 

In Nature's simplest charms at first arrayed; 
But, verging to decline, its splendors rise, 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise. 
While scourged by famine from the smiling land 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band; 300 

And while he sinks without one arm to save, 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 
Where, then, ah where shall poverty reside. 
To scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed, $05 

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
And even the bare- worn common is denied. 
If to the city sped, what waits him there? 
To see profusion that he must not share; 310 

To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know, 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 3 1 5 

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, 
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign. 
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train; 320 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare: 



52 Elegies 

Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy; 

Sure these denote one universal joy! 

Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah, turn thine eyes 325 

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies: 

She once perhaps, in village plenty blest, 

Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; 

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; 330 

Xow lost to all — her friends, her virtue, fled — 

Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, 

And pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour 

When idly first, ambitious of the town, 3$$ 

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
Even now perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 340 

Ah no! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between, 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
Far different there from all that charmed before, 345 

The various terrors of that horrid shore: 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day; 
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 350 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around, 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake, 
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 355 

And savage men more murderous still than they; 
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 



Oliver Goldsmith 53 

Far different these from every former scene — 

The cooling brook, the grassy- vested green, 360 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 

That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed that parting day 
That called them from their native walks away, 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 365 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
For seats like these beyond the western main, 
And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 370 

The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe: 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 375 

The fond companion of his helpless years, 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
And blest the cot where every pleasure rose, 380 

And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear, 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 385 

How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! 
How do thy potions with insidious joy 
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own: 300 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; 
Till, sapped their strength and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 



54 Elegies 

Even now the devastation is begun, 395 

And half the business of destruction done; 
Even now methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
I see the rural Virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400 

Downward they move, a melancholy band, 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand: 
Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 
And kind connubial Tenderness are there, 
And Piety with wishes placed above, 40^ 

And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade, 
Unlit in these degenerate times of shame 
To catch the heart or strike for honest fame; 410 

Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride, 
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, 
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so, 
Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 415 

Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! 
Farewell! and oh, where'er thy voice be tried, 
On Torno's cliffs or Pambamarca's side. 
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 
Redress the rigors of the inclement clime; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain: 
Teach him that states of native strength possessed, 425 

Though very poor, may still be very blest; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away. 
While self-dependent power can time defy, 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 4.^0 

Oliver Goldsmith 



MISCELLANEOUS LYRICS 



THE BLIND BOY 

say what is that thing calPd Light, 
Which I must ne'er enjoy; 

What are the blessings of the sight, 
O tell your poor blind boy! 

You talk of wondrous things you see, 
You say the sun shines bright; 

1 feel him warm, but how can he 
Or make it day or night? 

My day or night myself I make 

W T hene'er I sleep or play; i 

And could I ever keep awake 

With me 'twere always day. 

With heavy sighs I often hear 

You mourn my hapless woe; 
But sure with patience I can bear i 

A loss I ne'er can know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 

My cheer of mind destroy: 
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 

Although a poor blind boy. a 

Colley Cibber 



56 Miscellaneous Lyrics 



ODE ON SOLITUDE 

Happy the man, whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air 

In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
Whose flocks supply him with attire; 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
In winter lire. 

Blest, who can unconcern 'dlv find 
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 10 

In health of body, peace of mind, 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night; study and ease 
Together mixt, sweet recreation, 

And innocence, which most does please 15 

With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 

Thus unlamented let me die; 

Steal from the world, and not a stone 

Tell where I lie. 20 

Alexander Pope 



From Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue 

Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise! 
Exalt thy tower'y head, and lift thy eyes! 
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn; 
See future sons and daughters yet unborn 



Ambrose Philips 57 

In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise, 5 

Demanding life, impatient for the skies! 

See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, 

Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend; 

See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings, 

And heaped with products of Sabaean springs! 10 

For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, 

And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. 

See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display, 

And break upon thee in a flood of day! 

No more the rising Sun shall gild the morn, 15 

Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn; 

But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, 

One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze 

O'erflow thy courts: the light himself shall shine 

Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine! 20 

The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 

Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away, 

But fixed his word, his saving pow'r remains; — 

Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns. 

Alexander Pope 



TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY 

Timely blossom, Infant fair, 
Fondling of a happy pair, 
Every morn and every night 
Their solicitous delight, 
Sleeping, waking, still at ease; 
Pleasing, without skill to please: 
Little gossip, blithe and hale, 
Tattling many a broken tale, 
Singing many a tuneless song, 
Lavish of a heedless tongue; 



58 



Miscellaneous Lyrics 

Simple maiden, void of art, 

Babbling out the very heart, 

Yet abandon'd to thy will, 

Yet imagining no ill, 

Yet too innocent to blush; 15 

Like the linnet in the bush 

To the mother-linnet's note 

Moduling her slender throat; 

Chirping forth thy petty joys, 

Wanton in the change of toys, 

Like the linnet green, in May 

Flitting to each bloomy spray; 

Wearied then and glad of rest, 

Like the linnet in the nest: — 

This thy present happy lot. 

This in time will be forgot: 

Other pleasures, other cares. 

Ever-busy Time prepares; 
And thou shalt in thy daughter see. 
This picture, once, resembled thee. 

Ambrose Philips 



TO A CHILD OF QUALITY 

five years old, 1704, the author then being forty 

Lords, knights, and squires, the numerous band, 
That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters, 

Were summoned, by her high command. 
To show their passions by their letters. 



My pen amongst the rest I took, 

Lest those bright eyes that cannot read 

Should dart their kindling fires, and look 
The power they have to be obeyed. 



Matthew Prior 59 

Nor quality nor reputation 

Forbid me yet my flame to tell; 10 

Dear five-years-old befriends my passion, 

And I may write till she can spell. 



For while she makes her silk-worms beds 

With all the tender things I swear, 
Whilst all the house my passion reads 1 5 

In papers round her baby's hair, 

She may receive and own my flame; 

For though the strictest prudes should know it, 
She '11 pass for a most virtuous dame, 

And I for an unhappy poet. 20 

Then, too, alas! when she shall tear 

The lines some younger rival sends, 
She '11 give me leave to write, I fear, 

And we shall still continue friends; 

For, as our difP rent ages move, 25 

'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!) 

That I shall be past making love 
When she begins to comprehend it. 

Matthew Prior 



AN ODE 

The merchant, to secure his treasure, 
Conveys it in a borrow'd name: 
Euphelia serves to grace my measure, 
But Cloe is my real flame. 



60 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

My softest verse, my darling lyre 
Upon Euphelia's toilet lay — 
When Cloe noted her desire 
That I should sing, that I should play. 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 
But with niy numbers mix my sighs; 
And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. 



Fair Cloe bluslrd: Euphelia frown'd: 

I sung, and gazed; I play'd, and trembled: 

And Venus to the Loves around 1 5 

Remarked how ill we all dissembled. 

Matthew Prior 



ON A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB 
OF GOLD FISHES 

'T was on a lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 
The azure flowers that blow, 
Demurest of the tabby kind 
The pensive Selima, reclined, 
Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail her joy declared; 
The fair round face, the snowy beard, 
The velvet of her paws, 
Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes 
She saw, and purr'd applause. 



Thomas Gray 61 

Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide 

Two angel forms were seen to glide, 

The Genii of the stream: 15 

Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue 

Through richest purple to the view 

Betray 'd a golden gleam. 

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: 

A whisker first, and then a claw 20 

With many an ardent wish 

She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize — 

What female heart can gold despise? 

What cat 's averse to fish? 

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent 25 

Again she stretch'd, again she bent, 

Nor knew the gulf between — 

Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — 

The slippery verge her feet beguiled; 

She tumbled headlong in! 30 

Eight times emerging from the flood 

She mew'd to every watery God 

Some speedy aid to send: — 

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, 

Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — 35 

A favorite has no friend! 

From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived, 

Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, 

And be with caution bold: 

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 40 

And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, 

Nor all that glisters gold! 

Thomas Gray 



62 Miscellaneous Lyrics 



TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE 

If doughty deeds my lady please 

Right soon F 11 mount my steed; 
And strong his arm, and fast his seat 

That bears frae me the meed. 
I '11 wear thy colors in my cap, 

Thy picture at my heart; 
And he that bends not to thine eye 
Shall rue it to his smart! 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; 

O tell me how to woo thee! 
For thy dear sake, nae care I '11 take 
Tho' ne'er another trow me. 



If gay attire delight thine eye 

I '11 dight me in array; 
F 11 tend thy chamber door all night, 15 

And squire thee all the day. 
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 

These sounds I '11 strive to catch; 
Thy voice I '11 steal to woo thysell, 

That voice that nane can match. 20 



But if fond lo^e thy heart can gain, 

I never broke a vow; 
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 

I never loved but you. 
For you alone I ride the ring, 

For you I wear the blue; 
For you alone I strive to sing: — 

O tell me how to woo! 



Samuel Johnson 63 

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; 

O tell me how to woo thee! 30 

For thy dear sake, nae care I '11 take, 

Tho' ne'er another trow me. 

Robert Graham of Gartmore 



WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS 
TO FOLLY 

When lovely woman stoops to folly 
And finds too late that men betray, — 
What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
What art can wash her guilt away? 

The only art her guilt to cover, 
To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 

Oliver Goldsmith 



ONE-AND-TWENTY 

Long-expected One-and-twenty, 
Ling'ring year, at length is flown : 

Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty, 
Great *** **** ? are now your own. 

Loosen'd from the minor's tether, 
Free to mortgage or to sell, 

Wild as wind and light as feather 
Bid the sons of thrift farewell. 



64 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies, 
All the names that banish care; 

Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, 
Show the spirit of an heir. 



10 



All that prey on vice and folly 
Joy to see their quarry fly: 

There the gamester, light and jolly, 
There the lender, grave and sly. 



15 



Wealth, my lad. was made to wander, 

Let it wander as it will; 
Call the jockey, call the pander, 

Bid them come and take their fill. 



20 



When the bonny blade carouses. 

Pockets full, and spirits high — 
What are acres? What are houses? 

Only dirt, or wet or dry. 

Should the guardian, friend, or mother 1 

Tell the woes of wilful waste. 
Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother; — 

You can hang or drown at last. 

Samuel Johnson 



THE SONG OF DAVID 



He sang of God. the mighty source 
Of all things, the stupendous force 

On which all strength depends: 
From Whose right arm. beneath Whose eyes. 
All period, power, and enterprise 

Commences, reigns, and ends: 



William Cowper 65 

The world, the clustering spheres He made, 
The glorious light, the soothing shade, 

Dale, champaign, grove and hill: 
The multitudinous abyss, 10 

Where secrecy remains in bliss, 

And wisdom hides her skill. 



Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said 

To Moses: while Earth heard in dread, 

And, smitten to the heart, 1 5 

At once, above, beneath, around, 
All Nature, without voice or sound, 

Replied, 'O Lord, THOU ART.' 

Christopher Smart 



THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK 

I am monarch of all 1 survey; 
My right there is none to dispute; 
From the center all round to the sea 
I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

Solitude! where are the charms 5 
That sages have seen in thy face? 

Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
Than reign in this horrible place. 

1 am out of humanity's reach, 

I must finish my journey alone, 10 

Never hear the sweet music of speech; 

I start at the sound of my own. 

The beasts that roam over the plain 

My form with indifference see; 

They arc so unacquainted with man, 15 

Their lameness is shocking to me. 



66 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

Friendship, and Love. 
Divinely bestow'd upon man. 
Oh. had I the wings of a dove 

soon would I taste yon again! 20 

My sorrows I then might assuage 
In the ways of religion and truth. 
Might learn from the wisdom of age. 
And be cheer 'd by the sallies of youth. 

Ye winds that have made me your sport, 
Convey to th :ore 

S m e - rdial endearing report 

: a land I shall visit no more: 
My friends, do they now and then send 
A wish or atl me? 50 

tell me I yet have a friend. 

ugh a friend I am never to see. 

How fleet is a glance of the mind! 
Compared with the speed of its flight, 

:' lags behind. 35 

And the - inged arrows of light. 

When I think of my own native land 
In a moment I seer.: to be then 
ollection at hand 
Soon hurries me back to despair. 40 

But -fowl is gone to her nf 

The beast is laid down in his lair; 

- 
And I to my cabin repair. 

mercy in every pi 45 

And mercy, encouraging thou r 
Gives even affliction a grace 
And reconciles man to his lot. 

Will 




William Cowper 



William Cowper 67 



TO MARY UNWIN 

Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, 

Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew, 

An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 

And undebased by praise of meaner things, 

That ere through age or woe I shed my wings 5 

I may record thy worth with honor due, 
In verse as musical as thou art true, 
And that immortalizes whom it sings: — 

But thou hast little need. There is a Book 

By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 10 

On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 

A chronicle of actions just and bright — 

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; 

And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. 

William Cowper 



TO THE SAME 

The twentieth year is well-nigh past 
Since first our sky was overcast; 
Ah would that this might be the last! 
My Mary! 

Thy spirits have a fainter How, 
I see thee daily weaker grow — 
'T was my distress that brought thee low. 
My Mary! 



68 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

Thy needles, once a shining store, 
For my sake restless heretofore, 10 

Now rust disused, and shine no more; 
My Mary! 



For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
The same kind office for me still, 
Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 1 5 

My Mary! 

But well thou play'st the housewife's part, 
And all thy threads with magic art 
Have wound themselves about this heart, 

My Mary! 20 

Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language utter d in a dream; 
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 
My Mary! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 25 

Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 
My Mary! 

For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see? v ;o 

The sun would rise in vain for me, 
My Mary! 

Partakers of thy sad decline 
Thy hands their little force resign, 
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 35 

My Mary! 



William Cowper 69 

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
That now at every step thou mov'st 
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st, 

My Mary! 40 

And still to love, though prest with ill, 
In wintry age to feel no chill, 
With me is to be lovely still, 
My Mary! 

But ah! by constant heed I know 45 

How oft the sadness that I show 
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
My Mary! 

And should my future lot be cast 
With much resemblance of the past, 50 

Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 
My Mary! 

William Cowper 



THE POPLAR FIELD 

The poplars are felPd; farewell to the shade 
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; 
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, 
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 
Of my favorite field, and the bank where they grew: 
And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade! 

The blackbird has fled to another retreat 

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; 



JO Miscellaneous Lyrics 

And the scene where his melody charm'd me before 
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 

My fugitive years are all hasting away. 

And I must ere long lie as lowly as they. 

With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, i 

Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 

The change both my heart and my fancy employs; 
I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys: 
Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 2 

Willi am Cow per 



THE SHRUBBERY 

O happy shades! to me unblest! 

Friendly to peace, but not to me! 
How ill the scene that offers rest, 

And heart that cannot rest, agree! 

This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 5 

Those alders quivering to the breeze, 

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
And please, if anything could please. 

But fix'd unalterable Care 

Foregoes not what she feels within, 10 

Shows the same sadness everywhere. 

And slights the season and the scene. 

For all that pleased in wood or lawn 

While Peace possess'd these silent bowers. 

Her animating smile withdrawn, 15 

Has lost its beauties and its powers. 



William Cowper 71 

The saint or moralist should tread 
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow; 

They seek like me the secret shade, 

But not, like me, to nourish woe! 20 

Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste 

Alike admonish not to roam; 
These tell me of enjoyments past, 

And those of sorrows yet to come. 

William Cowper 



THE JACKDAW 

There is a bird who by his coat, 
And by the hoarseness of his note, 

Might be supposed a crow; 
A great frequenter of the church, 
Where bishop-like he finds a perch, 

And dormitory too. 



Above the steeple shines a plate 
That turns and turns, to indicate 

From what point blows the weather; 
Look up — your brains begin to swim ; 
'T is in the clouds: that pleases him; 

He chooses it the rather. 



Fond of the speculative height, 
Thither he wings his airy flight, 

And thence securely sees 1 5 

The bustle and the raree-show 
That occupy mankind below, 

Secure and at his ease. 



J2 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
On future broken bones and bruises. 

If he should chance to fall. 
No; not a single thought like that 
Employs his philosophic pate 

Or troubles it at all. 



20 



He sees that this great roundabout. 
The world, with all its motley rout, 

Church, army, physic, law, 
Its customs, and its businesses, 
Are no concern at all of his 

And says — what says he? — " Caw." 30 

Thrice happy bird! I too have seen 
Much of the vanities of men, 

And, sick of having seen 'em, 
Would cheerfully these limbs resign 
For such a pair of wings as thine, 35 

And such a head between 'em. 

William Cow per 



TO A YOUNG LADY 



Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 
Silent and chaste she steals along. 
Far from the world's gay busy throng: 
With gentle yet prevailing force, 
Intent upon her destined course; 
Graceful and useful all she does. 
Blessing and blest where'er she goes; 
Pure-bosom 'd as that watery glass 
And Heaven reflected in her face. 10 

William Cow per 



William Cowper 73 



LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 

Toll for the Brave — 
The brave that are no more! 
All sunk beneath the wave 
Fast by their native shore! 

Eight hundred of the brave, 5 

Whose courage well was tried, 
Had made the vessel heel 
And laid her on her side. 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds 

And she was overset; 10 

Down went the Royal George, 

With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone; 

His last sea-fight is fought, 1 5 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle; 

No tempest gave the shock; 

She sprang no fatal leak, 

She ran upon no rock. 20 

His sword was in its sheath, 
His fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down 
With twice four hundred men. 

— Weigh the vessel up 25 

Once dreaded by our foes! 
And mingle with our cup 
The tears that England owes. 



74 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

Her timbers yet are sound, 

And she may float again 30 

Full charged with England's thunder, 

And plow the distant main: 



But Kempenfelt is gone, 

His victories are o'er; 

And he and his eight hundred 35 

Shall plow the wave no more. 

William Cow per 



THE CASTAWAY 

Obscurest night involved the sky, 

The Atlantic billows roar'd, 
When such a destined wretch as I, 

Wash'd headlong from on board, 
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 5 

His floating home for ever left. 

No braver chief could Albion boast 

Than he with whom he went, 
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 

With warmer wishes sent. 10 

He loved them both, but both in vain, 
Nor him beheld, nor her again. 



Not long beneath the whelming brine, 

Expert to swim, he lay; 
Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 1 5 

Or courage die away; 
But waged with death a lasting strife, 
Supported by despair of life. 



William Cowper 75 

He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd 

To check the vessel's course, 20 

But so the furious blast prevail'd 

That, pitiless perforce, 
They left their outcast mate behind, 
And scudded still before the wind. 



Some succor yet they could afford; 25 

And such as storms allow, 
The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 

Delay'd not to bestow. 
But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, 
Whate'er they gave, should visit more. 30 

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 

Their haste himself condemn, 
Aware that flight, in such a sea, 

Alone could rescue them; 
Yet bitter felt it still to die 35 

Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 

He long survives, who lives an hour 

In ocean, self -upheld; 
And so long he, with unspent power, 

His destiny repelPd; 40 

And ever, as the minutes flew, 
Entreated help, or cried ' Adieu!' 

At length, his transient respite past, 

His comrades, who before 
Had heard his voice in every blast, 45 

Could catch the sound no more; 
For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
The stifling wave, and then he sank. 



jG Miscellaneous Lyrics 

No poet wept him; but the page 

Of narrative sincere, 50 

That tells his name, his worth, his age, 

Is wet with Anson's tear: 
And tears by bards or heroes shed 
Alike immortalize the dead. 






I therefore purpose not, or dream, 55 

Descanting on his fate, 
To give the melancholy theme 

A more enduring date: 
But misery still delights to trace 
Its semblance in another's case. 60 



No voice divine the storm allay 'd. 

No light propitious shone, 
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, 

We perish'd, each alone: 
But I beneath a rougher sea, 65 

And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 

William Cowper 



TO-MORROW 

In the downhill of life when I find I 'm declining, 

May my fate no less fortunate be 
Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining, 

And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea; 
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, 

While I carol away idle sorrow, 
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn 

Look forward with hope for To-morrow. 



Samuel Rogers 77 

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, 

As the sunshine or rain may prevail; 10 

And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, 

With a barn for the use of the flail : 
A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, 

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; 
I '11 envy no Nabob his riches or fame, 1 5 

Or what honors may wait him To-morrow. 

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely 

Secured by a neighboring hill; 
And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly 

By the sound of a murmuring rill: 20 

And while peace and plenty I find at my board, 

With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, 
With my friends may I share what To-day may afford, 

And let them spread the table To-morrow. 

And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring 25 

Which I 've worn for three-score years and ten, 
On the brink of the grave I '11 not seek to keep hov'ring, 

Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again: 
But my face in the glass I '11 serenely survey, 

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; 30 

As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare To-day, 

May become Everlasting To-morrow. 

John Collins 



A WISH 

Mine be a cot beside the hill; 
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
A willowy brook that turns a mill 
With many a fall shall linger near. 



78 Miscellaneous Lyrics 

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; 
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 



Around my ivied porch shall spring 

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; j 

And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 

In russet-gown and apron blue. 

The village-church among the trees, 
Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
With merry peals shall swell the breeze j 

And point with taper spire to Heaven. 

Samuel Rogers 



THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 

Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile - 
Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, 
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile 
And move, and breathe delicious sighs! 

Ah, now soft blushes tinge her checks 
And mantle o'er her neck of snow: 
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
What most I wish — and fear to know! 



She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! 
Her fair hands folded on her breast: 
— And now, how like a saint she sleeps! 
A seraph in the realms of rest! 



10 



Anna Laetitia Barbauld 79 

Sleep on secure! Above control 

Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee: 

And may the secret of thy soul 1 5 

Remain within its sanctuary! 

Samuel Rogers 



A FAREWELL 

Life! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part; 
And when, or how, or where we met 
I own to me 's a secret yet. 

Life! we Ve been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; 
— Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time; 1 

Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime 

Bid me Good Morning. 

Anna Laetitia Barbauld 



SOXGS AND BALLADS 

ENGLISH 

SONG 

Xot, Celia, that I juster am 

Or better than the rest; 
For I would change each hour, like them, 

Were not mv heart at rest. 



But I am tied to very thee 5 

By every thought I have; 
Thy face I only care to see, 

Thy heart I only crave. 

All that in woman is adored 

In thy dear self I rind — 10 

For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome and the kind. 



Why then should I seek further store, 

And still make love anew? 
When change itself can give no more, 15 

'T is easy to be true. 

Sir Charles Sedley 



Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset 81 



SONG WRITTEN AT SEA 

To all you Ladies now at land 

We men at sea indite; 
But first would have you understand 

How hard it is to write; 
The Muses now, and Neptune too, 5 

We must implore to write to you — 

With a fa, la, la, la, la. 

For though the Muses should prove kind 

And fill our empty brain, 
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind 10 

To wave the azure main, 
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, 
Roll up and down our ships at sea — 

With a fa, la, etc. 

Then if we write not by each post, 15 

Think not we are unkind, 
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost 

By Dutchmen, or by wind; 
Our tears we '11 send a speedier way: — 
The tide shall waft 'em twice a day. 20 

The King with wonder and surprise 

Will swear the seas grow bold, 
Because the tides will higher rise 

Than e'er they did of old; 
But let him know it is our tears 25 

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall Stairs. 

Should foggy Opdam chance to know 

Our sad and dismal story, 
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe. 



82 Songs and Ballads 

And quit their fort at Goree; 
For what resistance can they find 
From men who 've left their hearts behind? 



30 



Let w r ind and weather do its worst, 

Be you to us but kind; 
Let Dutchmen vapor, Spaniards curse, 

No sorrow shall we find: 
'Tis then no matter how things go. 
Or who 's our friend, or who 's our foe. 



35 



To pass our tedious hours away 
We throw a merry main. 

Or else at serious ombre play — 
But why should we in vain 

Each other's ruin thus pursue? 

We were undone when we left vou. 



40 



But now our fears tempestuous grow 
And cast our hopes away, 

Whilst you, regardless of our woe, 
Sit careless at a play, 

Perhaps permit some happier man 

To kiss your hand or llirt your fan. 



50 



When any mournful tune you hear 

That dies in every note, 
As if it sighed with each man's care 

For being so remote. 
Think then how often love we Ve made 
To you, when all those tunes were played. 



In justice you cannot refuse 

To think of our distress 
When we for hopes of honor lose 



John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester 83 

Our certain happiness: 60 

All those designs are but to prove 
Ourselves more worthy of your love. 

And now we Ve told you all our loves, 

And likewise all our fears, 
In hopes this declaration moves 65 

Some pity for our tears: 
Let 's hear of no inconstancy, — ■ 
We have too much of that at sea — 

With a fa, la, la, la, la. 

Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset 



SONG 

My dear Mistress has a heart 

Soft as those kind looks she gave me; 

When, with love's resistless art, 
And her eyes, she did enslave me; 

But her constancy 's so weak, 5 

She 's so wild and apt to wander, 
That my jealous heart would break 

Should we live one day asunder. 

Melting joys about her move, 

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; 10 

She can dress her eyes in love, 

And her lips can arm with kisses. 

Angels listen when she speaks; 

She 's my delight, all mankind 's wonder: — 
But my jealous heart would break 15 

Should we live one day asunder. 

John Wilmot. Earl of Rochester 



Songs and Ballads 



COl 

I caxxot change, as others do. 
Though you unjustly scorn. 

5:r.:r :ii: z> :•:: - ::. '.':. ..: y.zrj: ::: y:_. 

r :: ;. ;_ lime ~15 ::•:" 

- 

As. ■ I '1 '.-■■ — 

Az.i :: rrvrnze r.y slizh:ri live. 

Will still love on. and die, 

- 

:: 
7:~.r y.z'rs ::. : :"- _Lri:iri rl>-: 

The -.v r- :Li: viir_ly fill 
Tr.i: t.: :~r r. : _: :i:i: eni? his -Z -_; .:: 

Will :r.rr. : e-zir. y: _: : lir. 
F:: n:h a :i:ilif\il .erir: htir: 
C:-r. r.iv.: : :::.!: lr. viir.. 

/«*« WUm<4. Earl of Rod 



RULE BRITAXXIA 

Britain first at Heaven's conunand 

- - 
Tr.i? -is :"r.r ir.ir.er ::* ht: lir.: 

: - - ; 

- - - - - - , - ; ; 

r '.::-> r. . ■ :: f"~ : .'. : ?l.\ves 
Tr.i- r.: :: r.r- : : - : :-f. :.? :':.-- 

ilst thou shall flourish great and free, 

1'r.-: :: : . :.r.i er.vy . f '.her: ill. 10 



James Thomson 85 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; 15 

All their attempts to bend thee down 

Will but arouse thy generous flame, 
And work their woe and thy renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine; 20 

All thine shall be the subject main, 

And every shore it circles thine! 

The Muses, still with Freedom found, 

Shall to thy happy coast repair; 
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd 25 

And manly hearts to guard the fair: — 
Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! 
Britons never shall be slaves! 

James Thomson 



SONG 

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 
An unrelenting foe to Love, 
And when we meet a mutual heart 
Come in between, and bid us part? 

Bid us sigh on from day to day, 
And wish and wish the soul away; 
Till youth and genial years are flown, 
And all the life of life is gone? 



86 Songs and Ball:, 

But busy. busy, still art thou. 
To bind the loveless joyless vow. 
The heart from pleasure to delude. 
To join the gentle to the rude. 



For once. Fortune, hear my prayer, 

And I absolve thy future care; 

All other blessings I resign. ] 

Make but the dear Amanda mine. 

James Thomson 



BLACK-EYED SUSAN 

All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd. 

The streamers waving in the wind. 
When black-eyed Susan came aboard: 

"0! where shall I my true-love hnd? 
Tell me. ye jovial sailors, tell me true 
If mv sweet William sails among the en 



William, who high upon the yard 

Rock'd with the billow to and fro. 
Soon as her well-known voice he heard 

He sigh'd. and cast his eyes below: io 

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands 
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark, high poised in air. 

Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 15 

And drops at once into her nest: — 
The noblest captain in the British fleet 
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 



John Gay 87 

"0 Susan, Susan, lovely dear, 

My vows shall ever true remain; 20 

Let me kiss off that falling tear; 

We only part to meet again. 
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 

" Believe not what the landmen say 25 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; 
They '11 tell thee, sailors, when away, 

In every port a mistress find: 
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 
For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 30 

"If to fair India's coast we sail, 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 

Thy skin is ivory so white. 
Thus every beauteous object that I view 35 

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

"Though battle call me from thy arms 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn; 
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 

William shall to his Dear return. 40 

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
The sails their swelling bosom spread, 
No longer must she stay aboard; 45 

They kissed, she sigh'd, he hung his head. 
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land; 
"Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand. 

John Gay 



88 . Songs and Ballads 



SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 

Of all the girls that are so smart 

There 's none like pretty Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 
There is no lady in the land 

Is half so sweet as Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Her father he makes cabbage-nets 

And through the streets does cry 'em; 10 

Her mother she sells laces long 

To such as please to buy 'em: 
But sure such folks could ne'er beget 

So sweet a girl as Sally! 
She is the darling of my heart, 15 

And she lives in our alley. 

When she is by, I leave my work, 

I love her so sincerely; 
My master comes like any Turk, 

And bangs me most severely: 20 

But let him bang his bellyful, 

I '11 bear it all for Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

Of all the days that 's in the week 25 

I dearly love but one day — 
And that 's the day that comes betwixt 

A Saturday and Monday; 



Henry Carey 89 

For then I 'm drest all in my best 

To walk abroad with Sally; 30 

She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 



My master carries me to church, 

And often am I blamed 
Because I leave him in the lurch 35 

As soon as text is named; 
I leave the church in sermon- time 

And slink away to Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 40 

When Christmas comes about again 

then I shall have money; 
I '11 hoard it up, and box it all, 

1 '11 give it to my honey: 

I would it were ten thousand pound, 45 

I 'd give it all to Sally; 
She is the darling of my heart, 

And she lives in our alley. 

My master and the neighbors all 

Make game of me and Sally, 50 

And, but for her, I 'd better be 

A slave and row a galley; 
But when my seven long years are out 

O then I '11 marry Sally, — 
O then we '11 wed, and then we '11 bed ... 55 

But not in our alley. 

Henry Carry 



go 



Songs and Ballads 



SCOTCH 
WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW 

Down in yon garden sweet and gay 
Where bonny grows the lily, 

I heard a fair maid sighing say: 
"My wish be wi' sweet Willie! 

"Willie 's rare, and Willie 's fair, 
And Willie 's wondrous bonny; 
And Willie hecht to marry me 
Gin e'er he married ony. 



'O gentle wind, that bloweth south 
From where my Love repaireth, 
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth 
And tell me how he fareth! 



10 



"O tell sweet Willie to come doun 
And hear the mavis singing, 
And see the birds on ilka bush 
And leaves around them hinging. 



15 



"The lav 'rock there, wi' her white breast 
And gentle throat sae narrow; 
There 's sport eneuch for gentlemen 
On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 



20 



"O Leader haughs are wide and braid 
And Yarrow haughs are bonny; 
There Willie hecht to marry me 
Jf e'er he married ony. 



John Logan 91 

"But Willie 's gone, whom I thought on, 25 

And does not hear me weeping; 
Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e 
When other maids are sleeping. 



"Yestreen I made my bed hi' braid, 

The night I '11 mak' it narrow, 30 

For a' the live-lang winter night 
I lie twined o' my marrow. 



'O came ye by yon water-side? 

Pou'd you the rose or lily? 
Or came you by yon meadow green, 35 

Or saw you my sweet Willie?" 



She sought him up, she sought him down, 

She sought him braid and narrow; 
Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, 

She found him drown'd in Yarrow! 40 

Anonymous 



THE BRAES OF YARROW 

"Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, 
When first on them I met my lover; 
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 
When now thy waves his body cover! 
For ever now, O Yarrow stream! 
Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; 
For never on thy banks shall I 
Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow! 



92 Songs and Ballads 

"He promised me a milk-white steed 
To bear me to his father's bowers; 10 

He promised me a little page 
To squire me to his father's towers; 
He promised me a wedding-ring, — 
The wedding day was fix'd to-morrow; — 
Now he is wedded to his grave, 1 5 

Alas, his watery grave in Yarrow! 

"Sweet were his words when last we met; 
My passion I as freely told him; 
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought 
That I should never more behold him! 20 

Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; 
It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow; 
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, 
And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 

"His mother from the window look'd 25 

With all the longing of a mother; 
His little sister weeping walk'd 
The green- wood path to meet her brother; 
They sought him east, they sought him west, 
They sought him all the forest thorough; 30 

They only saw the cloud of night, 
They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 

"No longer from thy window look — 
Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! 
No longer walk, thou lovely maid; 35 

Alas, thou hast no more a brother! 
No longer seek him east or west 
And search no more the forest thorough; 
For, wandering in the night so dark, 
He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 40 



Lady Anne Lindsay 93 

"The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
No other youth shall be my marrow; 
I '11 seek thy body in the stream, 
And then with thee I '11 sleep in Yarrow." 
— The tear did never leave her cheek, 45 

No other youth became her marrow; 
She found his body in the stream, 
And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 

John Logan 



AULD ROBIN GRAY 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
And a' the world to rest are gane, 
The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
While my gudeman lies sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; 5 

But saving a croun he had naething else beside: 

To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; 

And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, 

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; 10 

My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — 

And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. 

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; 
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; 
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e 1 5 
Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O marry me! 

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; 



94 Songs and Ballads 

His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee? 

Or why do I live to cry, Wae 's me? 20 

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; 
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: 
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; 
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 25 

When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he 
Till he said, I 'm come hame to marry thee. 

sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; 

We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away; 30 

1 wish that I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee; 
And why was I born to say, Wae 's me! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; 

I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; 

But I '11 do my best a gude wife aye to be, 35 

For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 

Lady Anne Lindsay 



THERE 'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE 
HOUSE 

And are ye sure the news is true? 

And are ye sure he 's weel? 
Is this the time to think o' wark? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel; 
Is this the time to spin a thread, 

When Colin 's at the door? 
Reach down my cloak, I 11 to the quay, 

And see him come ashore, 






Jean Adams (?) 95 

For there 's nae luck about the house, 

There 's nae luck at a' ; 10 

There 's little pleasure in the house, 
When our gudeman 's awa'. 

And gie to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's satin gown; 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 1 5 

That Colin 's in the town. 
My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 

My stockins pearly blue; 
It 's a' to pleasure our gudeman, 

For he 's baith leal and true. 20 

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, 

Put on the muckle pot; 
Gie little Kate her button gown 

And Jock his Sunday coat; 
And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 25 

Their hose as white as snaw; 
It 's a' to please my ain gudeman, 

For he 's been long awa'. 

There 's twa fat hens upo' the coop 

Been fed this month and mair; 30 

Mak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fare; 
And spread the table neat and clean, 

Gar ilka thing look braw, 
For wha can tell how Colin fared 35 

When he was far awa'? 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath like caller air; 
His very foot has music in 't 

As he comes up the stair — 40 



9 6 



}ongs and Ballads 

And will I see his face again? 

And will I hear him speak? 
I 'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I 'm like to greet! 



If Colin 's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave: 
And gin I live to keep him sae, 

I 'm blest aboon the lave: 
And will I see his face again, 

And will I hear him speak? 
I 'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I 'm like to greet. 



45 



5o 



For there 's nae luck about the house, 

There 's nae luck at a'; 
There 's little pleasure in the house, c 

When our gudeman 's awa\ 

Jean Adams(?) 



ABSENCE 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie; 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie! 



How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary! 
It was na sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 

Anonymous 



Jane Elliott 97 

THE LAND 0' THE LEAL 

I 'm wearin' awa', Jean, 

Like snaw when it 's thaw, Jean, 

I 'm wearin' awa' 

To the land o' the leal. 
There 's nae sorrow there, Jean, 5 

There 's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
The day is aye fair 

In the land o' the leal. 

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 

Your task 's ended noo, Jean, 10 

And I '11 welcome you 

To the land o' the leal. 
Our bonnie bairn 's there, Jean, 
She was baith guid and fair, Jean; 
O we grudged her right sair 15 

To the land o' the leal! 

Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 
My soul langs to be free, Jean, 
And angels wait on me • 

To the land o' the leal. 20 

Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 
This warld's care is vain, Jean; 
We '11 meet and aye be fain 

In the land o' the leal! 

Lady Carolina Nairn 

LAMENT FOR FLODDEN 

I Ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, 

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day; 
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest arc a' wede away. 



98 Songs and Ballads 

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, 

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae; 
Nae damn', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, 

Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; 

At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; 

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 15 

The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! 

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; 
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, 

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 20 

We '11 hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; 

Women and bairns are heartless and wae; 
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 

Jane Elliott 



Hobert 3Sttrns 

LAMENT FOR CULLODEN 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; 
For e'en and morn she cries, Alas! 
And aye the saut tear blins her ee: 




Robert Burns 



Robert Burns 99 

"Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 5 

A waefu' day it was to me! 
For there I lost my father dear, 
My father dear, and brethren three. 



"Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see: 10 

And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's ee! 

"Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
A bluidy man I trow thou be; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair 15 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. ,, 



TO A MOUSE 

On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, 
November 1785 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 

what a panic 's in thy breastie! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickerin' brattle! 

1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 5 
Wi' murd'rin' pattle! 

I 'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 10 

At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal! 



100 Songs and Ballads 

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request: 
I '11 get a blessin' wi' the lave, 

And never miss't! 



15 



Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin: 
And naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuhV 

Baith snell an' keen! 



20 



Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste 
An' weary winter comin' fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 



25 



30 



That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! 
Now thou 's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble 

An' cranreuch cauld! 



35 



But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 

For promised joy. 



40 



Robert Burns 101 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! 

The present only toucheth thee: 

But, Och! I backward cast my e'e 45 

On prospects drear! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear! 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 

On turning one down with the plow in April, 1786 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou 's met me in an evil hour, 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem; 
To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonnie gem. 



Alas! it 's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' spreckled breast, 10 

When upward-springing, blythe to greet 

The purpling east. 



Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 

Upon thy early, humble birth; 

Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 15 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 



102 Songs and Ballads 






The flaunting flowers our gardens yield 

High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield; 20 

But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 25 

Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies. 30 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade, 
By love's simplicity betrayed 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soiled is laid 35 

Low i' the dust. 



Such is the fate of simple bard 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred! 

Unskillful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 40 

Till billows rage and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er. 

Such fate to suffering worth is given, 

Who long with wants and woes has striven, 

By human pride or cunning driven 45 

To misery's brink; 
Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He ruined sink. 



Robert Burns 103 

Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, 

That fate is thine no distant date; 50 

Stern Ruin's plow-share drives elate 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom. 



MARY MORISON 

Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 

Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor: 

How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 5 

A weary slave frae sun to sun, 

Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string 

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 10 

To thee my fancy took its wing, — 

1 sat, but neither heard nor saw: 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 15 

'Ye are na Mary Morison.' 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? 

Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee? 20 

If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown; 

A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



104 Songs and Ballads 



BOXXIE LESLEY 

saw ye bonnie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border? 

She 's gane. like .Alexander. 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her. 

And love but her for ever; 
For Xature made her what she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither! 



Thou art a queen. Fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we. before thee; 

Thou art divine. Fair Lesley. 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 



The Deil he could na scaith thee. 

Or aught that wad belang thee; 
He 'd look into thy bonnie face. 15 

And say "I canna wrang thee!'' 

The Powers aboon will tent thee; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee; 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely 

That ill thev '11 ne'er let near thee. 20 



Return again. Fair Lesley. 

Return to Caledonie! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bonnie. 



Robert Burns 105 



SONG: MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE 

my Luve 's like a red, red rose 
That 's newly sprung in June: 

my Luve 's like the melodie 
That 's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 5 

So deep in luve am I: 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry: 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 10 

1 will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only Luve! 

And fare thee weel awhile; 
And I will come again, my Luve, 15 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 



A FAREWELL 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie; 
That I may drink before I go 

A service to my bonnie lassie: 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 



io6 Songs and Ballads 

The trumpets sound, the banners : 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; : : 

The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody; 
But it *s not the roar o T sea or shore 

Wad mak me langer wish to ta 
Xor shout o T war that ? s heard afar — 

Ir s leaving thee, my bonnie Ma: 



YE FLOWERY BANE 

Yz iiowery banks o ? bonnie Doon, 

How can ye blume sae fair! 
How can ye chant, ye little birds 

And I sae fu' o' care! 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird 5 

That sings upon the bough : 
Thou minds me o* the happy d 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou Tl break my heart, thou bonnie bird 

That sings beside thy ma : : 

For sae I sat. and sae I sang. 
And wist na o ? my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its hr 15 

And sae did I o r mine. 

ightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Frae aft its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

But left the thorn wT me. 20 



Robert Burns 107 

HIGHLAND MARY 

Ye banks and braes and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 5 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 10 

As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom! 
The golden hours on angel wings 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me as light and life 15 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender; 
And pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder; 20 

But, O! fell Death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early! 
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary! 

O pale, plae now, those rosy lips, 25 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly; 
And closed for ave the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly; 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly! 30 

But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



io8 Songs and Ballads 



OF A ' THE AIRTS 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I dearly like the West, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best: 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And mony a hill between; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 



I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair: 10 

I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air: 
There 's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There 's not a bonnie bird that sings 1 5 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



HA, HA, THE WOOING O'T 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
On blythe Yule night when we were fou, 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 






Robert Burns 109 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 10 

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig; 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', 
Spak o' lowpin ower a linn! 15 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Slighted love is sair to bide; 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 20 

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie dee? 
She may gae to — France for me! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 

How it comes let doctors tell, 25 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Meg grew sick — as he grew well; 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings! 30 

And 0,'her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 

Duncan was a lad o' grace; 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Maggie's was a piteous case; 35 

(Ha, ha, the wooing o't!) 
Duncan couldna be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; 
Now they 're crouse and canty baith: 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 40 



no Songs and Ballads 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES, 

Chorus. — Green grow the rashes, O; 
Green grow the rashes, O; 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 
Are spent among the lasses, O. 



There 's naught but care on ev'ry han', 5 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O; 
What signifies the life o' man 

An 't were na for the lasses, O. 

The war'ly race may riches chase, 

An' riches still may fly them, O; 10 

An' tho at last they catch them fast, 

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, 

My arms about my dearie, O, 
An' war'ly cares an' war'ly men 15 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 

For you sae douce ye sneer at this, 
Ye 're naught but senseless asses, 0; 

The wisest man the warP e'er saw 

He dearly loved the lasses, O. 20 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 

Her noblest work she classes, O; 
Her prentice han' she tried on man 

An' then she made the lasses, 0. 



Robert Burns in 



JOHN ANDERSON 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent 

Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent; 

But now your brow is bald, John, 5 

Your locks are like the snow; 

But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither, 10 

And mony a canty day, John, 

We Ve had wi' ane anither: 

Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we '11 go, 

And sleep thegither at the foot, 15 

John Anderson my jo. 



A MAN'S A MAN FOR A 1 THAT 

Is there for honest poverty 

That hings his head, and a' that? 
The coward slave we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that! 
For a' that and a' that, 5 

Our toils obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea stamp, 

The man 's the gowd for a' that. 

What though a homely fare we dine, 

Wear hoddin-grey, an' a' that? 10 

Gie fools their silk, and knaves their wine, 

A man 's a man for a' that : 



112 Songs and Ballads 

For a' that an' a' that, 

Their tinsel show an' a' that, 
The honest man, tho' e'er so poor, 15 

Is king o' men for a' that. 



Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts an' stares an' a' that; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He 's but a cuif for a' that: 20 

For a' that an' a' that, 

His ribbands, star, an' a' that: 
The man o' independent mind 

He looks an' laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight 25 

A marquis, duke, an' a' that, 
But an honest man 's aboon his might; 

Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! 
For a' that, an' a' that, 

Their dignities, an' a' that, 30 

The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth 

Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may 

(As come it will for a' that) 
That sense an' worth, o'er a' the earth 35 

Shall bear the gree, an' a' that: 
For a' that an' a' that, 

It 's comin' yet for a' that, 
That man to man, the world o'er 

Shall brithers be for a' that. 40 



Robert Burns 113 



AULD LANG SYNE 

Chorus. — For auld lang syne, my dear, 
For auld lang syne 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot 5 

And never brought to mind? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot 

And auld lang syne? 

And surely you '11 be your pint-stowp, 

And surely 1 11 be mine; 10 

And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes 

And pou'd the go wans fine; 
But we Ve wandered many a weary fit 15 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidled in the burn 

Frae morning sun till dine; 
But seas between us braid hae roared 

Sin' auld lang syne 20 

And there 's a hand, my trusty fere, 

And gie 's a hand o' thine; 
And we 11 tak a right guid-willie waught 

For auld lang syne. 



NOTES AND COMMENT 

(Heavy numerals refer to lines.) 
THE LONG AND VARIED (' PINDARIC) ODE 

The long ode with varied stanza is sometimes known as the 
' Pindaric Ode,' because it originated in the imitation of the odes of 
the Greek poet, Pindar. 

Pindar was an Athenian poet who lived in the fifth century before 
Christ — the most glorious period of Greek art. The supreme ex- 
cellence of his work has often caused his name to be loosely applied 
to a whole class of poems, of which other examples besides his have 
come down to us. These are the festival songs or hymns sung by 
trained choruses (who at the same time danced to the rhythm of the 
music) on great civic or religious occasions, such as the Olympic or 
Pythian games, or the annual spring festival at Athens in honor of 
the god Dionysus. The poet whose ode was chosen for the occasion 
was often publicly honored and rewarded; the dancing chorus was 
sometimes trained, at the expense of the state, by an official chosen 
for the purpose; the subject of the song was usually the praise of the 
local deities, and the dance which accompanied the singing moved 
before or about one of their altars. In fact, this beautiful perform- 
ance was not regarded as a form of entertainment, but as a solemn 
rite or ceremony, in which the three arts of music, poetry, and dancing 
united their different languages in one rhythm, with the object of 
giving as full expression as might be to the whole ideal and spiritual 
life of the community. 

English life, of course, offers no occasion for such festal singing: 
public ceremonies in modern times have usually been carried on in 
a more staid and somber fashion. But from the seventeenth century 
onward English poets have often been attracted by the difficult 
form and the noble lyric tone of the Greek ode, and have tried to 

"5 



Ii6 Xotes and Comment 

reproduce something like it in their own language. Ben Jonson. at 
the beginning of the seventeenth century, has the honor of first at- 
tempting the form ; but John Dryden wrote the first Pindaric odes 
which have taken their place among the classics, and partly through 
his influence the form continued in favor through the eighteenth 
century. In the nineteenth century the examples have not been 
numerous, but among them are some of the finest poems of the cen- 
tury. The three best known are Wordsworth's Ode on Intimations 
of Immortality, Tennyson - the Death of t)ie Duke of Well: 

and Lowell's Commemoration Ode. 

.All of these writers have departed more or less from the rules that 
governed the Greek 'Pindaric' some of them from ignorance, some 
by choice; but they have all followed the Greek original in certain 
general characteristics which distinguish the long and varied ode from 
other forms of lyric poetry. These characteristics ma; ribed 

under three heads. 

i. Metrical Form. The odes of Pindar are very complex and 
varied in form, but perfectly regular, because they follow the exact 
rules of the set musical forms and dancing movements which accom- 
panied them. There are three stanzas in each section. During the 
singing of the first (called the Strophe), the chorus moved from right 
to left across the platform or area provided for its performance; in 
the second stanza (called the Antistrophe), it moved back with a 
different rhythm, from left to right; these two stanzas are followed 
by a third called the Epode or after-song. The three stanzas are all 
of different form. But corresponding stanzas in different sections 
are alike: that is. I: i is the same as II: i and III: i; I: a the same 
as II: 2 and III: 2; and so on. 

But these regular variations were not understood by the early 
imitators; complexity and variety were mistaken for irregularity; 
and it was thought that the characteristic of the Greek Pindaric ode 
imply a constant change of form according to the poet's taste 
or feeling. Hence the English 'Pindaric' or long and varied, ode 
has no set form. Its characteristic is constant and irregular metrical 
variation. Different stanzas of the same poem are of different lengths 
and forms; the lines within stanzas also van- in length; rimes are 



Notes and Comment 117 

irregularly arranged; and there is frequent variation between the 
iambic, or rising, movement and the trochaic, or falling. It must 
not be supposed, however, that this constant variation and irregu- 
larity is merely meaningless and chaotic. It follows and interprets 
the abrupt changes of mood and feeling, from gay to grave, from 
solemn and exalted to intense and excited, which are characteristic 
of the long and varied ode. 

It should be noted, however, that Thomas Gray, in his two odes, 
The Progress of Poesy and The Bard, follows the exact arrangement 
of stanzas and strophes which is found in Pindar's odes. 

2. Style. We have seen that the Greek Pindaric ode was composed 
for singing, accompanied by instrumental music and dancing. The 
English Pindarics have seldom been written for actual musical per- 
formance, though Dryden's are an exception in this respect. But 
in most cases the English poets have used as a literary device the 
pretense that their odes were to be performed in the Greek manner. 
The flute, the lyre, the trumpet, and the drum are constantly men- 
tioned as accompanying the words, and it is often assumed that the 
lines are the utterance of a singing throng or chorus. 

Again, the chorus which sang the Greek odes was supposed to be 
inspired by the deity at whose altar the ceremony was performed. 
The influence of the god entered into them and possessed them with 
a frenzied excitement, which was expressed in the words, the music, 
and the dance. In this respect, also, the English ode imitates its 
Greek model. It begins abruptly and excitedly; the feelings rise 
to the height of rapture or solemn ecstasy; and the different moods 
succeed each other abruptly, as if the poet were swayed by forces 
beyond his control. 

3. Subject-Matter. The Greek Pindaric was the expression of 
national and civic spirit. The more intimate and personal experiences 
of the poet were described in simpler lyric forms. Similarly, the long 
and varied ode in English treats themes of a general and lofty char- 
acter. It is adapted to the needs of solemn and dignified occasions, 
on which the poet, speaking as the representative of all rather than 
as an individual person, gives voice to some strong feeling of his 
community or nation, or deals with some noble theme which concerns 



n8 Notes and Comment 



the whole race of men. Gray, for instance, writes of the pr 
of poetry through all the nations, closing with England; the theme 
of Dryden and Collins is the effect of music upon the passions of the 
human heart; Tennyson expresses the grief of England at the funeral 
of the Duke of Wellington; and Lowell raises a noble monument 
in verse to Lincoln and the many nameless martyrs of America's 
Civil War. 

DRYDEX'S TWO ODES FOR MUSIC 

In 16S0 a society was formed in London for the public perform- 
ance, at least once a year, of original musical compositions. Part 
of the performance usually consisted of the singing, by soloists and 
a trained chorus, of an ode written to order and set to music for the 
occasion. Both of Dryden's odes were written for this purpose: 
the first, A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, in 16S7; the second, Alexan- 
der's Feast, in 1697. 

The subject of both of them is the power of music to raise and 
control the passions of men. It was chosen as appropriate to the day 
on which the annual performance of the society occurred, namely, 
November 22, the day set apart in the Church as sacred to St. Cecilia. 
Cecilia was a noble Roman lady who, in the latter part of the second 
century, secretly embraced the Christian faith. She was believed 
to have invented the organ, and it was said that she held secret 
meetings at her house for the practise of sacred singing. As the 
patron-saint of music, she has been a favorite figure in Christian art. 

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day (Page 3 

The first and the last sections, which were accompanied by the full 
organ, correspond in their subject-matter. The former develops the 
idea that the world and man were organized out of chaos by the 
influence of music: the latter is a prophecy that at the last day all 
things will end to the sound of music. The section following the 
Opening Chorus (lines 16-24) is transitional and introduces the 
main idea of the poem: it was perhaps sung as a 'recitative,' that is, 
a solo sung in a peculiar 4 dry ' tone something like that of a recitation. 






Notes and Comment 119 

In the sections that follow (I-V) the main idea is developed — the 
effect of different kinds of music upon the emotions. In I the drum 
and trumpet summon to a charge; in II the flute complains softly of 
the woes of hopeless lovers; in III the violin proclaims the fury and 
pain of love; and in IV and V the organ raises to Heaven Earth's 
voice of praise and worship. Some of these sections were sung as 
solos, some by small parts of the chorus; and the organ accompany- 
ing the singing imitated by its various stops the sounds of the instru- 
ments described. 

The poem is remarkable for the skill shown by Dryden in imitating 
various musical effects in the sound of the words. He does this, not 
only by varying the length, rhythm, and speed of the lines, but also 
by the use of vowels and consonants in such a way as to produce 
tones like those of the various instruments, the drum, flute, violin, 
and so on, whose music is described. 

1-15. The gradual lengthening of the lines in this opening chorus 
should be observed. The stanza rises steadily in volume and majesty 
of sound, until it reaches a sudden climax in the last word: Man. 

17. Jubal: spoken of in Genesis (iv: 19-21) as the grandson of 
Methuselah and the originator of music among men. — The primi- 
tive form of the lyre is often spoken of as a "shell," in reference 
to the fable that the god Mercury invented the instrument by 
stringing cords upon a tortoise-shell. 

25. In the first four lines of this section the sound of the trumpet 
is imitated by a mixture of three-syllable and two-syllable measures 
with falling movement (dactyls and trochees) ; in the latter four the 
movement changes to a much slower pace, and the less lively rising 
(iambic) inflection takes the place of the impetuous falling inflection, 
while the heavy sound of the syllables suggests the dull and ominous 
drum-beat. The three succeeding sections offer equally interesting 
studies in imitative style. 

Alexander's Feast, or, the Power of Music (Page 5) 

This poem has the same subject as the preceding, but is different 
in plan. The first stanza tells how Alexander the Great is celebrating 



120 Notes and Comment 

a banquet in honor of his victory over the Persians, seated on his 
imperial throne, with his generals about him and "the lovely Thais 
by his side.'' In the second Timotheus, his chief musician, sings to 
the lyre the story of Alexander's parentage — how Jove wooed his 
mother Olympia in the form of a dragon; and Alexander feels in 
his own person the majesty of a god while the poet sings. Timo- 
theus changes his tone in stanza three and sings a rollicking drink- 
ing-song in praise of Bacchus, to the accompaniment of trumpet, 
drum and hautboy (a wooden wind-instrument, now usually called 
the oboe). In stanza four by another quick transition he changes 
the king's mood once more, reminding him in low and mournful 
strains of the sad fate of the Persian king Darius, whom he had 
conquered and slain. Pity thus awakened in Alexander's bosom, 
the poet leads him easily into the kindred mood of languorous 
love, and the conqueror sinks upon the bosom of his mistress. 
"with love and wine at once opprest" (stanza 5). But the magic 
of music rouses him again. The memory of the Greeks slain in 
many battles with the Persians excites the fury of vengeance. He 
seizes a torch and rushes forth, led by Thais, to destroy his enemies 
(stanza 6). In the last stanza Dryden describes the invention of 
the organ, and contrasts its sacred and solemn influence with the 
earthly emotions awakened by the pagan music of Timotheus. 

The last part of each stanza, from four to eight lines, was repeated 
as a chorus after the singing of the whole stanza as solo, duet, quar- 
tette, or otherwise. In most of the stanzas the point where this 
repetition begins is marked by a dash. 

24. Belied: 'concealed the presence of,' 'acted as a mask to.' 
There are many myths of the gods visiting mortal women in the 
forms of animals. 

79. Lydian measures. There were several 'modes' of Greek 
music, each with its own scale, and each with a peculiar character 
of its own. The 'Lydian' expressed the gentler moods and feelings. 

141. There is a legend that Cecilia was visited by an angel while 
she was playing on the instrument of her invention. 



Notes and Comment 121 



THE TWO PINDARIC ODES OF GRAY 

When Gray published his two Pindaric odes in 1757, he placed 
in the little volume a Greek motto from one of Pindar's odes, which 
may be translated: "Vocal to the intelligent alone; for the many 
they will need an intrepreter." Their reception justified this prophecy. 
Gray himself , in a letter to a friend, said that hardly any one esteemed 
them except Garrick and a certain "lady of quality, who is a great 
reader. She knew there was a compliment to Dryden (in The Progress 
of Poesy), but never suspected there was anything said about Shake- 
speare or Milton till it was explained to her." 

It is not strange that early readers had difficulty in understanding 
the poems. They deal in considerable detail with historical facts 
which are known only to those who have made some progress in 
learning, and, as if Gray meant to flatter his readers by assuming 
their thorough familiarity with these things, he alludes to them 
usually in indirect and figurative language. It must be remembered* 
therefore, that Gray is not writing here for "the common reader." 
He was a scholarly poet who lived "far from the madding crowd" 
in the retirement of his university rooms, where his solitude was 
relieved chiefly by the company of the great poets of classical an- 
tiquity, and of Shakespeare, Milton, and Dryden. He studied the 
noble and dignified language of these masters more devotedly than 
any other modern poet except, perhaps, Tennyson; and he deliber- 
ately undertook to write in a grand style that should echo their 
phrases and recall their rich and splendid diction. Unfortunately 
his secluded life cut him off from most of the themes which are 
worthy of such treatment. It was seldom that he found a subject, 
like that of the famous Elegy, to touch and move all human hearts, 
and in the two odes he was driven to seek his inspiration in books 
rather than in life. We must read them then as exercises in noble 
and classic style on themes which appeal to the mind, but not to 
the heart. As compared with many lyrics of much less pretension 
they are cold and inanimate; but, on the other hand, few English 
poems can cope with them in the refined and scholarly taste which 
the careful reader will observe in every line. 



122 Notes and Comment 

The Bard (Page 10) 

The poem is a survey of the striking events of English history from 
about 1300 to 1600, supposed to be spoken as a prophecy by a Welsh 
'bard,' or inspired poet, to the English King, Edward I, the invader 
and conqueror of his native country. 

The people of Wales belong to the old Celtic race which occupied 
most of Britain before our Anglo-Saxon ancestors settled there and 
drove back the old inhabitants to the wild mountain regions. The 
Welsh were able to repel the invaders, and long maintained their in- 
dependence of Anglo-Saxon rule. For eight centuries they pre- 
served their national language, handed down their traditional myths 
and songs, and worshiped according to the wild rites of their Druid 
priests and prophets. At last the vigorous Plantagenet king, 
Edward I, invaded their fastnesses in 1283, overcame their chieftains 
in battle, and brought Wales under subjection to the English crown. 

Edward is supposed, in the poem, to be returning through a pass 
in Mount Snowdon (in North Wales), at the head of his triumphant 
army. He is riding, with his generals, in advance of the host. At 
a turn in the road, where a cliff or huge rock overhangs their way, 
they are suddenly confronted by the figure of a white-bearded man 
of commanding presence. He holds the harp of the bards upon his 
arm, and as they draw near the rock on which he stands, he breaks 
into a wild prophetic song, calling the curses of his gods upon the 
ruthless king. At the sound of his voice the spirits of his companion- 
bards, slain by the English, gather on the neighboring rocks and 
unite in the prophecy of woe to Edward's race. They tell first of 
the murder of Edward II, the king's son, in Berkeley castle in 1327, 
then pass to the reign of Edward III, his grandson, which began 
brilliantly, but ended in gloom, overshadowed by the death of his 
oldest and favorite son, the Black Prince. They allude to the cruel 
murder of the next king, Richard II, in 1399, and then, passing over 
two reigns, foretell the woes of Henry VI, who was the unfortunate 
man destined to be king of England in the worst period of her history, 
the period of the Wars of the Roses. These wars were ended in 1485 
by the battle of Bosworth Field, where Richard III was defeated, 



Notes and Comment 123 

and the two roses were united in the arms of the new king, Henry 
Tudor, who was of a Welsh family. 

The spirits vanish and leave the Bard alone. To his inspired vision 
a happier spectacle now appears, the glory of England under the 
Tudor sovereigns. He beholds Queen Elizabeth surrounded by 
statesmen, nobles, and poets. He hears the sound of Spenser's and 
Shakespeare's music, and from a greater distance the soul-stirring 
strains of Milton. He glories in these triumphs of Britain under 
rulers who have his own Celtic blood in their veins, but reiterates his 
curse on the house of Plantagenet. 

As he ends his song, the Bard plunges from the cliff into the torrent 
at its foot. 

8. Cambria is the Latin name of Wales. 

13-14. Glo'ster (Gloucester) and Mortimer were leaders in 
Edward's army. 

28-33. Hoel (Howell), Llewellyn, Cadwallo, Urien, and Modred 
were Welsh bards. 

49. Weave the warp and weave the woof. Gray here uses the idea, 
which comes to him from his study of Greek and Norse mythology, 
that the fates of man are woven by supernatural women, the Norns 
(in Norse mythology) or the Fates (in Greek) . Warp and woof are 
technical terms of weaving, explained in any dictionary. 

50-56. In 1327 Edward II, son of Edward I, was deposed by his 
wife Isabella and her lover Mortimer, imprisoned in Berkeley Castle 
and cruelly murdered there. 

57. She-wolf of France. Isabella, Edward II's wife, was daughter 
of the King of France. The six lines following tell of the repeated 
defeats and awful disasters visited upon her native land by her own 
son, Edward III of England, who succeeded her husband, Edward 
II. The famous battles of Crecy (1346) and Poitiers (1356) occurred 
during these campaigns. 

63. Mighty victor, mighty lord, etc. Edward Ill's long reign was 
brilliant and glorious until ten years before his death. The king was 
charged with gross extravagance and injustice; Parliament impeached 
his favorites; and finally his son, Edward, on whom the hopes of 
the country were fixed, died in 1376. In the following year the kiiiiz 



124 



Notes and Comment 



himself died, his early prosperity forgotten in the faults of his later 
years. 

67. The sable warrior: that is, "the Black Prince," popular name 
of the king's son Edward, who was the hero of many battles of the 
French wars. 

71. Fair laughs the Morn and soft the zephyr blows. The last 
six lines of the stanza describe King Edward's reign under the figure 
of a ship sailing out at dawn "in gallant trim," but destined to ship- 
wreck in the evening. It is perhaps the finest passage in the poem: 
a noble piece of allegorical word-painting. 

77. Fill high the sparkling bowl, etc. Richard, the grandson and 
successor of Edward III, was deposed by Parliament in 1399 and 
imprisoned. Soon after he disappeared, and it has never been 
definitely known what became of him; but it is probable that he 
was put to death in his prison with the knowledge of his successor, 
Henry IV. Gray here accepts a common belief that he was starved 
to death, and draws a picture of his being ironically tormented by 
the vision of a feast which he was not allowed to taste. 

83. Heard ye the din of battle bray. The four lines beginning 
thus describe the Wars of the Roses, a bloody feud carried on for 
thirty years (1455-1485) between the rival houses of York and 
Lancaster. 

87. Ye Towers of Julius, etc. In the Wars of the Roses the nom- 
inal leader of the Lancastrian house, until 1461, was the pious but 
weak King Henry VI. His wife, Margaret of Anjou, was its real 
leader, however, and she carried on the war, for the sake of Henry 
and their young son Edward, until 1471, when she was captured and 
her son killed at the battle of Tewkesbury. After this defeat, Henry, 
who was imprisoned in the Tower of London, was assassinated there. 

The Tower of London was generally, but wrongly, believed to 
have been built by Julius Caesar when he conquered Britain. 

91. Above, below, the rose of snow. The Wars of the Roses ended 
at the battle of Bosworth Field, where Richard III was defeated by 
Henry Tudor, a Welsh gentleman, who both by marriage and in his 
own person united the two houses of York and Lancaster. When he 
became king with the title of Henry VII, he adopted as the royal 



Notes and Comment 125 

emblem a badge in which the roses of the rival houses were com- 
bined, the red rose beneath, the white rose on top. 

93. The bristled boar in infant-gore. Richard III, whose symbol 
was a wild boar with bristles erect, caused his two nephews to be 
murdered in the Tower of London in 1483. He also had a hand in 
the death of young prince Edward at the battle of Tewkesbury. 

97. Edward, lo! to sudden fate, etc. The allusion in these four 
lines is to the sudden death of Edward I's beloved wife, Eleanor, 
soon after his return from the Welsh expedition here described. 

109. No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. This is the King 
Arthur so famous in legend and poetry, the hero of Tennyson's Idylls 
of the King. He was a Celtic chieftain, who, after great deeds, dis- 
appeared from men's eyes; but it was believed and told by the Welsh 
bards that he would return some time and restore their glory. In 
this passage the old prophet calls on the Welsh people of the future 
to accept the Tudor kings, who were partly Welsh, as the true heirs 
of Arthur and their other ancient kings — "Britannia's issue." 

in. Girt with many a baron bold, etc. : the court of the virgin queen 
Elizabeth, the last and greatest of the Tudors (1 558-1603). 

119. What strings symphonious tremble in the air. The allusion 
is to the poets of Queen Elizabeth's reign, two of whom are described 
in the following stanza. 

121. Taliessin (pronounce Ta li e sin): the name of the greatest 
of Welsh bards, who lived in the sixth century. 

125. The verse adorn again. These three lines describe The Faery 
Queen, an epic poem by Edmund Spenser in which moral lessons 
("truth severe") are imparted by means of a chivalric tale of war 
and love. 

128. In buskin'd measures move. These three lines describe 
Shakespeare's drama. 

131. A voice as of the cherub-choir. This and the following line 
allude to the Paradise Lost of Milton; the two following these to 
the succeeding poets, Dryden, Pope, etc. 



126 Notes and Comment 



The Progress of Poesy (Page 15) 

The title sufficiently indicates the general subject. The subjects 
of the three sections are as follows: 

I. The powers and charms of poetry. 

II. The history of poetry outside of England. 

III. Poetry in England. 

1 -12. The variety of tones which poetry has at its command is 
represented under the figure of a stream. Poetry has its sources in 
the varied interests and incidents of human life among simple and 
primitive peoples, as a river is fed by many mountain springs (lines 
3-6). As it proceeds it gathers strength and depth, and is sometimes 
solemn, majestic, calm, like a broad river flowing through fields rich 
with grain (lines 7-9), or again passionate and rapid, like a cataract 
(lines 10-12). 

1. Aeolian lyre. Gray, in a note on this phrase, says that " Pindar 
styles his own poetry, with its musical accompaniments, Aeolian 
song, Aeolian strings, the breath of the Aeolian flute." Aeolis is a 
part of Asia Minor where Greek lyric poetry flourished. 

13-24. A note by Gray says that the subject of this stanza is 
"the power of harmony to calm the turbulent sallies of the soul," 
and adds: "The thoughts are borrowed from the first Pythian Ode 
of Pindar." 

15. Enchanting shell: the lyre. (See note to Dryden's Song for St. 
Cecilia's Day, line 17.) 

17-24. Music calms the anger of the eagle of Jove, when he returns 
from hurling the thunderbolts, and alights, with his plumage still 
ruffled, upon his master's hand. 

25-41. The subject, says Gray, is the "power of harmony to pro- 
duce all the graces of motion in the body." This is illustrated by a 
description of a dance of the Loves and Graces in honor of Venus 
(Cytherea), who appears herself in the last lines. 

42-53. The origin of poetry among men. "To compensate the 
real and imaginary ills of life," says Gray, "the Muse was given to 



Notes and Comment 127 

mankind by the same Providence that sends the Day, by its cheerful 
presence, to dispel the gloom and terrors of the Night." 

54-65. " Extensive influence of poetic genius over the remotest 
and most uncivilized nations, its connection with liberty, and the 
virtues that naturally attend on it. (See the Erse, Norwegian, and 
Welsh fragments, the Lapland and American Songs.) " This note of 
Gray's shows that he was familiar with the folksongs of Lapland 
alluded to in lines 54-56, and with the music and poetry of the 
American Indians (see lines 57-62). 

66-82. "Progress of poetry from Greece to Italy, and from Italy 
to England." The idea, given out in the preceding stanza, that 
poetry follows freedom and virtue is here further illustrated. 

83-94 : Shakespeare. 

92, 93. This refers to one of the two keys, that to the other. 

95-102: Milton. Gray poetically represents Milton's blindness 
as due to the excessive brightness of the vision of Heaven which he 
beheld with his imagination and described in Paradise Lost. 

103-106: Dryden. 

105-106. "Meant to express the stately march and sounding 
energy of Dryden's rimes." The "two coursers" are the two lines 
of the ' heroic' or 'riming' couplet, in which almost all of Dryden's 
non-lyrical verse is written. Gray's description of the majesty of 
this form as handled by Dryden is partly borrowed from the mag- 
nificent passage about the horse in the book of Job (xxxix: 19) : "Hast 
thou clothed his neck with thunder?" 

107-123 : Gray's apology for attempting to follow Dryden in the 
form of the Pindaric ode. 

107-110. The poems of Dryden here alluded to are his two odes 
(see pp. 3-10 of this volume) in Pindaric form. 

115. The Theban eagle: Pindar. 

120. Orient: gleaming, bright, and various. Unborrow'd of the 
sun: because they are derived from the poet's fancy. 



128 Notes and Comment 



The Passions: An Ode for Music (Page 19) 

Another ode on the same subject treated in Dryden's odes and 
touched on in Gray's Progress of Poesy, the power of music to excite 
and control the emotions. In its structure and style also this ode 
has much in common with Dryden's and Gray's. But there is a 
striking difference between the spirit of Collins's poetry and that 
which we find in the works of either of the other poets. In Dryden 
and Gray the feelings and the imagination are habitually controlled 
and regulated by the rules of art. Their effects are produced by 
knowledge, practise, and skill, rather than by the immediate in- 
spiration of an excited imagination. Collins, on the other hand, aims 
to give free rein to the mood of enthusiasm and to reproduce his feel- 
ings with the vividness of a first impression. Hence his verse is more 
genuinely lyrical than Dryden's or Gray's, though it is not so per- 
fectly and artistically finished. This can be seen by comparing, for 
instance, the stanzas on Anger and Hope in The Passions with cor- 
responding stanzas in Dryden's St. Cecilia's Day, or again by placing 
the fine passage in Gray's Progress of Poesy describing the dance of 
Venus with the Loves and Graces, beside Collins's picture of Cheer- 
fulness and her train in the forest. While Dryden and Gray seem to 
be describing carefully studied scenes, Collins shows us an instant 
vision of impetuous, rapturous life. 

The scene of The Passions is outside the " magic cell" in some wild 
part of Greece (perhaps on the side of Mt. Parnassus) where Music 
has her home. Hither a troop of Passions constantly resort, drawn 
by the intoxicating influence of her art. On one occasion, filled with 
unusual fury, they snatch the instruments of sound which hang on 
myrtle bushes outside the cell, and play and sing the music which 
suits their various natures. Each of the succeeding stanzas describes 
the music of one of these players and its effects. They are: Fear, 
Anger, Cheerfulness, Joy. In the concluding stanza, the poet sum- 
mons Music to return to our later age with the warmth, energy, and 
simplicity which she had in the early days of Greece. 

21-22. The eyes of Anger showed by their lightning-flashes the 
secret pangs or stings he suffered. 






Notes and Comment 129 

35-38. Hope thinks that the future will correspond to all her 
wishes, just as Echo gives a soft responsive voice to her song. But 
it is her own mood which makes the future seem so fair, as it is her 
own voice which Echo returns to her. 

57-68. The kind of melancholy described here is much the same 
as in Milton's II Penseroso, a not-unpleasing pensiveness. The 
" mellow horn" which Melancholy blows is probably an oboe or 
bassoon of the kind called in modern orchestras an " English horn." 

69-79. Motion, color, and charming image combine in this wood- 
land scene. We see the dew glistening on the ferns down the green 
vistas of the forest, and catch elusive glimpses, here and there, of 
sylvan creatures, the Fauns, the Nymphs of the trees, and their 
" chaste-eyed Queen" Diana. The personifications of Exercise and 
Sport are lively and interesting. 

89-94. As Joy plays, Love and Mirth dance to his music. Her 
in line 91, refers to Mirth: he in line 92 to Love. 

95. Sphere-descended maid. It was thought in ancient times that 
the heavenly bodies were placed in concentric crystal spheres which 
made a delicate music by their revolution one upon another. This 
music is too fine to be heard by common ears, but all the laws of 
melody and harmony in men's music are derived from its unperceived 
influence. 

THE SHORT ODE IN SIMPLE FORM 

The short ode in regular and simple form is, like the long and varied 
ode of the preceding section, an imitation of a classical form, a form 
more common in Latin literature, however, than in Greek. The odes 
of Horace have been its chief models, though other authors, Greek 
and Latin, have contributed their influence. For instance, Horace's 
fine ode addressed to Fortune served Gray as guide and example 
in writing his Hymn to Adversity, and later inspired another equally 
great English poem, Wordsworth's Ode to Duty. In his ode To Evening 
Collins imitates a favorite Horatian form of stanza, even to the 
extent of omitting rime. We need not be surprised at this borrowing 
of English writers from Greece and Rome; it is but one instance of 



1^0 



Xotes and Comment 



the great debt of modern literatures to the classics of antiquity. 
There was a native sense of form in the Greek and Latin peoples which 
has been in some degree inherited by the so-called Latin peoples of 
modern times, but which the German and English peoples have had 
to acquire by a careful study of their works. In almost all the more 
dignified and important kinds of English poetry we shall find that, 
while the poetic feeling and imagination are natural and spontaneous, 
the laws of form and structure which guide and shape their expression 
are ultimately of classical origin. 

In metrical form the short ode in simple form differs from the 
long and varied ode in two respects: first, it is almost always much 
shorter; and, secondly, the stanzas are all alike throughout the same 
poem. Gray and Wordsworth usually employ a stanza of from six 
to ten lines, but Collins succeeds in giving all the dignity proper to 
an ode in a short stanza of four or five lines. Other poets are fond 
of a still longer stanza, of from ten to sixteen lines. 

As in its metrical form, so also in its subject-matter and style, 
the short ode occupies a position between the long and varied ode, 
on the one hand, and the common lyric or song, on the other. It 
deals with themes which touch the personal feelings of the individual 
more closely than do those of the 'Pindaric' ode, but on the other 
hand it treats these themes in a much larger and more general way 
than they are treated in the common lyric. Some of the finest odes 
of this class deal with moral ideas, such as Gray's Ode on the Pleasure 
Arising from Vicissitude, or Wordsworth's Ode to Duty; others are 
inspired by some general aspect of nature, like Spring, Winter, Even- 
ing, or the West Wind. But whatever the theme it is always treated 
broadly and inclusively, so as to embrace the general experience of 
human nature with regard to it. and not merely what the poet has felt 
on a particular occasion. 

The classical origin of the short ode betrays itself most clearly in 
certain characteristics of its style. In the pagan mythology of Greece 
and Rome there were deities for almost all of the familiar phenomena 
of nature, and even for many of the striking events and moral ex- 
periences of human life. At first these many deities were generally 
accepted as real personalities, and the commonest form of lyric 






Notes and Comment 13 1 

poetry was a hymn of prayer or praise, or a cry for mercy and favor, 
addressed to some one, or some group, of the divine beings; but as 
the faith in the old religion grew weaker with time, the "gods " became 
little more than names, or at most personifications of nature or 
experience, and the pious prayer of the poet was little more than a 
literary device. As such it passed over into English poetry. If the 
short odes printed in this volume are examined, it will be found that 
they are nearly all in the form of a direct apostrophe addressed to 
a supposed nymph or lesser god, who is in fact a mere personification 
of the poet's subject. Simplicity and Evening are chaste nymphs, 
Adversity is the stern daughter of Jove, and so on. The ode, then, 
is a kind of hymn in which some solemn, but secular, subject is 
treated with the loftiness and dignity appropriate to a semi-religious 
exercise. 

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God (Page 24) 

This poem appeared as the conclusion of an essay by Addison in 
The Spectator (No. 465, Saturday, August 23, 171 2), on the subject 
of the ways in which a man may confirm his religious faith. It is 
introduced as follows: "The Supreme Being has made the best 
arguments for his own existence, in the formation of the heavens and 
the earth, and these are arguments which a man of sense cannot 
forbear attending to, who is out of the noise and hurry of human 
affairs. . . . The psalmist has very beautiful strokes of poetry to 
this purpose, in that exalted strain, 'The heavens declare the glory 
of God: and the firmament showeth his handiwork. One day tell- 
eth another: and one night certifieth another. There is neither 
speech nor language : but their voices are heard among them. Their 
sound is gone into all lands: and their words into the ends of the 
world.' As such a bold and sublime manner of thinking furnishes 
very noble matter for an ode, the readers may see it wrought into 
the following one." 

This, therefore, is a paraphrase of the beginning of the nineteenth 
psalm, as far as the middle of the fourth verse. The fact that the 
ode is a kind of secular hymn has been mentioned above. This one 



Notes and Comment 



USA 



hymn of divine praise, which, set to the spl end id 
music of Haydn, has long been a favorite. 

Ode ox the Plz .jjestng from Vicissitude (Page 25) 

The poet describes a spring morning (stanza 1), and its exhilarating 
influence on the flocks and birds (stanza 2). The reflection is sug- 
gested that while the beasts know only the sensations of the moment, 
man's feelings in joy or sorrow are modified by his power of looking 
before and after (stanza 5). This idea is variously illustrated in the 
last three stanzas (stanzas 4—6)- 

T;-.r r;..::- — ;- : riji:: : :- :: ; 5 Lir.rf 7: 7 r_->: :: _r r.~t 
alternately, the last four form two couplets. There is a break in 

movement of the stanza is iambic, the first two lines are trochaic 

certainly meant this variation of the rhythm to produce an 

effect upon the feelings of the reader, and it is interesting to test the 

delicacy of one's ear by attempting to describe just what this effect is. 

Though this is not the finest of Gray's odes, it yields several 

examples of his pure and cor. The description of the lark 

in the second stanza, and the first four lines of the fourth stanza are 

as perfect as art could make them. The abruptness of the conclusion 

ained by the fact that the poem was found, incomplete, among 

Ode ox the Spring (Page 2;) 

The idea of this poem is similar to that of Gray's EUgy y the 
contrast between the solitary, contemplative life of the country and 
the foolish ambitions of **the Busy and the Gay." But in the last 
stanza the case for the opposite side is heard. The uth" 

speak for those who choose to enjoy the vanities and pleasures of the 
world while they last. There can be little doubt that this stanza 
expresses Grays own dejection as he contemplated the lonely life 
of the bachelor scholar to which he was condemned by his contem- 
e habits and his fastidious tastes. 



Notes and Comment 133 

In the first stanza the poet envelops his description in the orna- 
ments of classical allusion: the days that usher in the change from 
winter to spring are "the rosy-bosomed Hours' ' that wait upon "fan- 
Venus" ; the nightingale is "the Attic warbler"; the varied and 
rich colors of summer are summed up in the favorite adjective of 
Greek poets, "purple." But he casts aside these veils of reality, 
as he goes on, and the third stanza, describing the insect-swarms of 
early summer, is a fine example of fastidious and elegant descriptive 
art. In a letter to a friend Gray wrote: "Extreme conciseness of 
expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and musical, is one of the grand 
beauties of lyric poetry. This I have always aimed at and never 
could attain." He attained his aim, in fact, better than he would own, 
and the only fault that can be laid to his charge is that he sometimes 
sacrifices the natural and spontaneous flow of feeling in the search for 
final perfection. He is one of the great careful artists of English 
poetry, like Pope and Tennyson. 

The form of the stanza is the same as in The Ode on a Distant Pros- 
pect of Eton College. 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College (Page 28) 

Windsor Castle, the stateliest of the royal residences of England, 
and the ancient brick buildings of Eton College, the oldest of boys' 
schools, are situated on opposite sides of the Thames River, about 
seventeen miles from the heart of London. Gray, who was himself 
an old Eton boy, was brought up at the little village of Stoke Pogis, 
which lies about four miles north of Windsor and Eton, in the midst 
of some of the quietest rural scenery in southern England. He was 
fond of returning during his later life to the scenes of his childhood, 
and his solitary, musing walks about the village furnished the mate- 
rials of several of his poems. The scene of the Elegy is supposed to 
be the burying-ground of the Stoke Pogis parish church, and the 
distant prospect described in the present poem is probably the view 
of the buildings of Windsor and Eton which one may enjoy on a 
favorable day from the tower of the same church. In an open field 
adjoining the churchyard, a monument in memory of Gray has been 



134 Notes and Comment 






erected, on one side of which — that which faces toward Eton and 
Windsor and the Thames — are inscribed the words of the second 
stanza of this poem. 

The stanza is of ten lines, with a break and pause after the first 
four, as in the Ode on the Spring. Is there a reason, to be found in 
the music and movement of the whole stanza, for the break in the 
sense at this point? 

Gray's fondness for the personification of abstract ideas is strik- 
ingly illustrated in stanzas 7, 8, and 9. One can easily imagine each 
of these personifications as a figure in an allegorical painting or group 
of sculpture, and Gray himself doubtless thought of them in much 
the same way. It is partly for this reason, perhaps, that they seem 
to us a little cold and unfeeling; but Gray believed, on the contrary, 
that personification adds dignity, nobility, and restraint to the 
representation of the passions, without in any way marring its 
expressiveness. 

Hymn to Adversity (Page 32) 

This poem is in a nobler mood than any of the other odes of Gray. 
Though it expresses the same melancholy that casts its gloom over 
all the rest, it points to the ennobling and softening effects of un- 
happiness, and ends in a prayer for the self-knowledge and sym- 
pathy with others which are the rewards of adversity well born. 
The superior dignity of the theme is supported by a corresponding 
solemnity in the form of the verse. Whereas in the other short odes 
the prevailing four-stress line is varied by shorter lines, here the only 
variation from it is in a final long line of six stresses in each stanza. 
This adds greatly to the weight and power of the stanza. 

Ode to Simplicity (Page 33) 

Collins invokes the nymph Simplicity, not chiefly as a guide and 
helper in the affairs of common life, but as the inspiring genius of 
poetry. The formal invocation extends over several stanzas (as also 
in Collins's Ode to Evening), and falls naturally into two parts. 
The first part, stanzas 1 and 2, describes the nature, dress, and 






Notes and Comment 135 

habits of the nymph; in the second part, including stanzas 3-5, the 
poet contrives by various hints and allusions to advance consider- 
ably the brief survey of the history of poetry which forms the argu- 
ment of the poem proper. He invokes the presence of the Nymph, 
first, by the honey and the bees of Hybla (an ancient Greek city on 
the shore of Sicily), which are often used as symbols of the simple 
melody and the sweet savor of rural poetry (stanza 3), secondly, by 
the nightingale which soothed the ear of Sophocles (the author of 
the tragedy Electro), in the rural retreat where he chiefly lived and 
wrote (stanza 3), and, thirdly, by the river Cephisus, one branch 
of which flows through the city of Athens, the home of pure and 
simple art (stanza 4). 

At the end of the fourth stanza a new idea is developed, the same 
that appears in Gray's Progress of Poesy, namely, that poetry 
cannot endure where freedom and virtue have vanished, and in the 
sixth and seventh stanzas this idea is further illustrated by the 
history of poetry in ancient and modern Italy. In Rome (stanza 6) 
poetry throve only as long as the Republic lasted and her citizens 
were patriotic; when the Empire was established it lingered through 
only one distinguished reign, the reign of the Emperor Augustus, 
which was made glorious in the annals of literature by Virgil, Horace, 
and Ovid. Then she fled the altered land, and not even the beauty 
of the Italian vines and olives could win her back to the halls and 
bowers of medieval Italy, or the palaces of her Renaissance princes. 
So far the argument has been the same as in Gray's Progress 
of Poesy, but now Collins closes his survey, instead of including 
the poets of England, Shakespeare, Milton, Spenser, and Dryden, 
among the devotees of Simplicity and Nature. It is likely that he 
wishes to emphasize in this way his approval of a simple and even 
rustic art. Observe that in stanza 8 he says that neither taste 
(such cultivated taste as Gray's, for instance) nor genius (like 
Shakespeare's perhaps) can alone produce pure poetry: the sweet 
simplicity of Nature must inspire the whole. Fifty years after 
Collins wrote this, Robert Burns, the Scotch farmer, wrote songs 
exactly as he would have had them written, namely, in the natural 
language of shepherds and country-folk. 



136 Xotes and Comment 

The Ode to Simplicity has a varied and nervous movement 
utterly unlike the careful and regulated pace of any of Gray's odes. 
The form of the stanza helps to produce this effect. Two short 
riming lines at the beginning suggest the quickened pulse of excited 
feeling. The impetus given by their quick motion carries the ear 
through the long, dying line which follows. The second half of the 
stanza repeats the form of the first. How are the two parts bound 
together in unity? 

Ode Written in 1746 (Page 35) 

The title given by Collins to this ode may indicate that it was 
written to commemorate the English soldiers who had fallen during 
the preceding year in a number of battles: Fontenoy, May 11, 1745, 
where the English and Hanoverian army was defeated by the French; 
Preston Pans, Sept. 21, 1745, where the Young Pretender, Charles 
Edward Stuart, with a force of Scottish Highlanders, routed a veteran 
English army; and others of less importance. 

The poem has a very odd character for a military memorial. It 
is not a funeral march; there is no noise of the trumpet or drum. 
Nature has taken the dead to herself, and the sound of her lament is 
as faint and eery as the half-heard pipes of Pan at dawn. 

Ode to Evening (Page 36) 

Here again is a long invocation, or salutation, extending to five 
stanzas, and couched in a single long sentence, which wanders in- 
determinately like a vine and throws its tendrils out on every side. 
The sentence ends in the 19th and 20th lines. But, as in the Ode 
to Simplicity, this long invocation also serves to advance the main 
argument of the poem. It describes the earlier stages of the prog- 
ress from day to night, first (stanza 2) as the sun approaches the 
horizon, and later (stanzas 3 and 4) at the hushed moment just 
after its setting, when the birds and insects that love the night begin 
to stir. 

It is at this later hour of evening that the real description begins. 



Notes and Comment 137 

The modern French painter, Corot, is like Collins in his taste for 
depicting the grays of morning and evening, but he chooses by pref- 
erence the more familiar and friendly hours just after the dawn and 
before the sunset. Collins's imagination is less dependent upon ideas 
of human comfort. He loves the chill hours of earlier morning and 
later evening, when the colors of nature are doubtfully seen through 
a gray veil of mist, and the wanderer shrinks from dimly-descried 
objects as if they might conceal elves or other shadowy presences. 
The effect of the description in the Ode written in 1746 is of such an 
hour; and in the present poem he quickly brings the sun to his 
"wavy bed" in the sea, and leads on the hours of dusk, with the 
dew, the folding-star, and the spires " dim-disco ver'd " in "the dark- 
ening vale." 

The verse-form of this wonderful poem is not the least of its 
claims to study and admiration. It is an imitation of a stanza often 
used by Horace. Two five-stress lines are followed by two short 
(three-stress) lines. The same form had been used before, but 
Collins's originality consists in the omission of rime, and he has 
been so successful in satisfying the ear by various other means that 
we do not miss the regular recurrence of sound to which we are 
accustomed. 

The syntax of Collins's very long sentences is sometimes difficult, 
and indeed sometimes faulty. It is necessary to work out the con- 
struction, even at the cost of considerable study, in order to form in 
one's mind the picture that he is suggesting. 

ELEGIES 

The elegy is not, like the ode, distinguished from other species of 
poetry by laws of form and style peculiar to itself. It is a poem, 
usually of some length, expressing grief for the dead, or the more 
general mood of regret for what is lost or past. It is true that, in 
imitation of the elegies of the Greek and Latin poets, Theocritus, 
Virgil, and others, a number of the finest English elegies have been 
written in the pastoral mode, with Greek shepherd names, and other 
features borrowed from the classical originals. Milton's Lycidas and 



138 Notes and Comment 

Matthew Arnc I is are of this class. But the pastoral dr 

in no wise essential to elegiac poe. 

Of the two eighteenth-century poems included in this section, one 
is called an * elegy * by its author. The other. The Deserted Village, 
r.ot so called by Goldsmith, but it is placed beside the other 
because of their striking similarity in a number of particulars. 
Thev are both laments for — or at least sad, memorials of — a 
whole class or group of persons, many of them but slightly known 
to the authors, whereas each of the elegies mentioned in the preced- 
ing paragraph was inspired by the death of one man. the friend or 
fellow of the poet- Again, they are both pastoral, not in the conven- 
tional and litr: t in which the term is applied to Lycidas 
and Thyrsis, but in the exact sense of the word. For they are both 
about the real shepherds and country-folk of England in the time 
when the authors themselves were I .nd it may be added that 
there is a similar tone of musing melancholy in both, the quiet mood 
of meditation rather than the stir and fervor of lyric feeling. 

But as regards the last point, it is equally important to note the 
contrast between the two poems. The note of feeling in Gray is 
certainly deeper than in Goldsmith, but it is also less sound and 
hear: grief for the village dead leads him to the dispiriting 

conclusion that all paths conduct men to the grave as their common 
goal; and the elegy for the village farmers and shepherds char, 
the end into a lament for an imaginary poet, who in some respects 
stands for Gray himself. Goldsmith, on the other hand, looks only 
outward; his whole mind is occupied with his subject; the theme of 
The Deserted Village is the village itself, and its one-time citizens, 
all nameless, and yet known and loved by many generations of 
readers. Observe also that while Gray's regret for the lives of the 
humble villagers deepens into a darker mood of despondency*, Gold- 
smith's mood turns into wholesome indignation against the economic 
and social wrongs which in his opinion cause the desertion of the 
country and the ruin of its villa,: 



Notes and Comment 139 



Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (Page 38) 

In 1742 Gray took up his residence in his college rooms at Cam- 
bridge, and gave over once for all the hopes of an active and brilliant 
career which had seemed to open before him after his graduation. 
Henceforth his uneventful life was varied only by frequent visits to 
his home at Stoke Pogis and by occasional tours to remote parts of 
the British islands. 

His mother and aunt lived together at Stoke Pogis on the " West- 
End Farm," a modest estate, about half a mile from the church, 
considerably enlarged and embellished since Gray's time. This was 
his home during his visits to the village, and a walk in the woods of 
the "Farm" is still pointed out as his favorite strolling-place. The 
village church corresponds with sufficient exactness to the descrip- 
tion in the opening lines of the Elegy. Its square tower, almost 
six-hundred years old, is overgrown with ivy to its very top. The 
little enclosure about the church, much smaller in Gray's time than 
now, is unusually crowded, even for an English churchyard, with 
the tombstones of several centuries of villagers; and many of them 
are half hidden under the branches of a group of yew-trees near the 
south door of the church. Near the east end of the church is the 
tomb of Gray's mother, which bears the inscription, written by 
the poet: "Here sleep the remains of Dorothy Gray, Widow, the 
careful, tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had 
the misfortune to survive her." In 1771 the body of Gray himself 
was laid in the same tomb. 

The speaker in the Elegy is not Gray himself. The poem is rep- 
resented as the reverie of a nameless village poet — to whom Gray 
gives the qualities which he doubtless considered characteristic of the 
genuine poetic temperament. However, Gray himself was very 
much like the village poet whom he describes. He had his "science," 
his melancholy, his solitary habits, his craving for friendship, and the 
humble piety which his epitaph professes. He was at least a "kindred 
spirit," like the inquirer who reads the poet's epitaph and seeks to 
learn of him from the "hoary-headed swain," 



140 Notes and Comment 

The following outline of the argument or subject-matter of the 
poem may be found useful: 

I Descriptive introduction, lines 1-12. 

II Subject: the graves of the village dead, lines 13-16. 

a) The lives of the villagers recalled and described, lines 17-2S. 

b) Their lot compared with that of men more conspicuous and 

powerful in the world, lines 29-76. 

1 The humble and the great end at the same goal — Death, 

lines 33-44. 

2 Perhaps talents and genius as great as those of the famous 

men of the world are lying hidden in every country 
village, lines 45-60. 

3 But their humble lot circumscribes their power of doing 

either great good or great ill, lines 61-72. 

4 Conclusion of this part of the subject, lines 73-76. 

c) Their tombstones and epitaphs, lines 77-92. 

1 Description of them, lines 77-84. 

2 Their moral : The wish to be remembered after death is a 

universal weakness, lines 85-92. 

III Conclusion : The speaker, addressing himself, fancies what the 
world will say of him when he, too, is buried here (lines 93-116), 
and what epitaph will be inscribed on his tombstone, lines 11 7-1 28. 

The verse-form is the famous 'heroic' stanza, consisting of four 
five-stress iambic lines, riming alternately (that is, line 1 with line 3, 
line 2 with line 4). This is a form of greater dignity than any other 
simple rimed stanza because of the length of the lines, and because 
the rime-sounds occur at long intervals, instead of in rapid succession. 
And for the same reasons it is better adapted to argumentative or 
expository uses than to the purely lyrical. 

Some aid in the study of the Elegy will be derived from observing 
the fact that there is unusual completeness in each stanza when 
taken out of its context. In the art of some writers a whole poem 
seems to be created at once; its parts are inseparable. But the 
boundaries of the stanza are as sharply marked in Gray's poem as 
the lines of cleavage in crystalliferous rock. This partly accounts 
for the number of familiar quotations which the Elegy yields; 



Notes and Comment 141 

and for the same reason Gray's mature and learned art is studied 
to the best advantage when single stanzas are lifted from their places 
and set alone, as an artist places his pictures singly on an easel in 
order to detach them from their surroundings and give each one its 
"chance." 

The first step in such a study is naturally to make sure that one 
understands exactly what the whole stanza says. Gray's syntax is 
often recondite, and sometimes a little difficult. It is the syntax of 
a scholarly writer of classical tastes, who believed that certain diffi- 
culties add a measure of dignity to the style. For instance, in line 
35, the subject of awaits is hour; this kind of inversion is frequent in 
Gray. In line 73, far from does not go with the verb stray of the next 
line; the complete sense would be: {Living as they did) far, etc. 

Some study of the meanings of words will also be necessary, for 
Gray like Milton was fond of claiming for the words of his poetical 
vocabulary their original Latin sense. Thus genial (line 52) means 
'life-giving', 'warming'; pious (line 90), 'expressing natural duty or 
affection,' as of children to parents, or friend to friend; science (line 
119), 'knowledge.' Gray's use of adjectives will be found interesting. 
His method is constantly to choose adjectives which make clearer 
and stronger the general idea, or the broad outline and design of his 
picture, hardly ever, it will be observed, those which would add new 
and minute detail. . In the eighteenth century a critic complained 
that in almost every line of the Elegy an adjective or adverb could 
be omitted without impairing the sense. A little experimentation 
with stanzas 1, 2, 4, 6, etc., will show that there is a kind of literal 
and narrow truth in this criticism. But consider, first, what kind of 
a change would be produced by reducing the lines from five accents 
to four, and, secondly, how much of the peculiar richness and ampli- 
tude of the style would be lost by the clipping off of adjectives which 
merely clarify or emphasize the general sense. 

There is remarkably little learned allusion in the poem. In the 
fine stanza comparing the countrymen who sleep in the churchyard 
with the great leaders of the popular cause in the seventeenth-cen-r 
tury civil strife, it should be observed that Gray attributes to Crom- 
well the cruelty and tyranny which in the opinion of the eighteenth 



142 Notes and Comment 






century outweighed his patriotic virtues. Carlyle's biography and 
the democratic spirit of the nineteenth century modified this view 
of him. In an earlier manuscript of the poem Gray wrote the names 
Cato, Tully [Cicero], and Ccesar where Hampden, Milton, and Crom- 
well now stand. 

It is almost impertinent to praise the Elegy. No other English 
poem has been so fortunate as this one — except the plays of Shake- 
speare — in retaining through a long period both the affections of 
common readers and the admiration of critics and scholars. The 
former love it for the universal appeal of its sentiments and ideas, 
for its pathetic, yet dignified, eloquence; the latter praise it for its 
noble verse, its chosen and faultless diction, for the many signs, in 
short, of thoroughly mastered art and learning which they find in 
every stanza. 

The Deserted Village (Page 43) 

The Deserted Village was published in May, 1770. Goldsmith 
was then forty-two years old. His vagabondage on the Continent 
was a distant memory; and his early struggle for existence in 
London, "among the beggars in Axe Lane," was also safely 
past. He was now living up two flights of stairs in the Brick Court 
of the Middle Temple, in comfortable quarters furnished with some 
elegance, and cared for by his private servant. It must have been 
rather late for the brave-spirited Bohemian to learn the use of such 
luxuries; but he had at least fully earned them. He was already 
known as the author of three masterpieces, in three kinds of 
literary composition, the great novel The Vicar of Wakefield, the 
comedy The Good-Natured Man, and the didactic poem The 
Traveller. In the following year, 1771, he wrote the greater comedy, 
She Stoops to Conquer, which was not acted, however, until 1773, 
and he seemed to be on the way to even greater prosperity than 
any he had yet known. Yet his generosity and his improvidence 
kept him deep in debt to the end, and he was bargaining with his 
publishers for an immense new job of hack work when a fatal illness 
attacked him in the spring of 1774. 



Notes and Comment 143 

Both of Goldsmith's important poems are written on the some- 
what prosaic themes which were characteristic of the school of Dryden 
and Pope. In the opinion of this school didactic poetry, dealing with 
subjects which appeal chiefly to the reason, was superior in kind to 
that which draws its inspiration primarily from the senses, the imag- 
ination, or the emotions: Pope was thinking of nature-poetry when 
he wrote slightingly of verse in which "pure description held the 
place of sense." When Goldsmith, therefore, wrote his Traveller 
he thought it necessary to have a formal argumentative proposition 
to maintain, namely, "that Party entirely distorts the judgment, 
and destroys the taste "; and he considered the descriptive parts of 
The Deserted Village subordinate to the economic theory they 
are meant to illustrate. That this is so is shown by the dedi- 
cation to Sir Joshua Reynolds, from which it is a pleasure to quote at 
length because it illustrates the fresh simplicity of feeling which 
makes Goldsmith so beloved: 



Dear Sir, — 

I can have no expectations, in an address of this kind, either to add 
to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing 
from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are 
said to excel: and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, 
as few have a juster taste than you. Setting interest therefore aside, 
to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present 
in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to 
my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. Pie 
is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this Poem to you. 

How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere me- 
chanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to inquire; but I know 
you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends 
concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is no where 
to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the 
poet's own imagination. To this I can scarcely make any other 
answer than that I sincerely believe what I have written; that 1 
have taken all possible pains in my country excursions, for those 
four or five years past, to be certain of what 1 allege, and that all my 
views and inquiries have led me to believe those miseries real which 
I here attempt to display. 



144 Notes and Comment 



Goldsmith's subject then is the contrast between the declining 
state of the country people of England and the luxury and extrava- 
gance of the wealthy, as shown by their costly amusements in Lon- 
don, and their great country estates kept up for ornament and 
pleasure. He argues that one of these conditions is the cause of the 
other. Whether it is or is not so is a question in economics which, 
as we see nowadays, is too large to be decided by the partial sym- 
pathies of poets. But Goldsmith's intuition was not all at fault. 
Economic historians say what he says, that pauperism was at this 
time on the increase, especially in the country, while the general 
wealth was as great as ever, and moreover that one cause of the 
suffering was the frequent enclosure by private owners of the "com- 
mons " or public lands. This latter point requires a little explana- 
tion. 

In the original communities founded in England by our Germanic 
ancestors when they invaded and settled the country, some of the 
land was always kept as common land on which any one could put his 
animals to graze; and there was often a village cowherd or swineherd, 
whose business was to look after the animals on the "commons." 
Since the fifteenth century, however, these tracts had been more and 
more encroached upon by powerful landowners, who would secure 
by legal means the right to fence in and "enclose" larger or smaller 
pieces of them for their private use. The owners of small tracts of 
three or four acres were thus often deprived of a place to pasture 
their animals, and were forced to sell or abandon their farms and 
become hired laborers — unless they chose one of the alternatives 
mentioned by Goldsmith in lines 300-363 of the poem, a dangerous 
and demoralizing life in London, or emigration to the British colonies 
in America. 

As regards the larger question raised by Goldsmith, the effect of 
the growth of foreign trade and a more luxurious mode of living upon 
agriculture, his knowledge is less to be depended on. For, even 
though the farmer's products go abroad to pay for imported luxuries, 
he gets his price just as if they had been sold at his door. It may 
even be argued that the spendthrift is for the time being a benefactor 
to the home producer, for if 






Notes and Comment 145 

The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 

Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth, 

it has robbed them only as a farmer wishes his fields to be robbed, 
namely, at the hands of the commission-merchant who pays the 
highest price for the goods in the expectation of exporting them. 
These were the arguments that were brought forward in answer to 
Goldsmith when his poem was published. His argument is certainly 
unsound in the exact form in which he puts it; but the vague feel- 
ing behind it and inspiring it is that luxury is in some way dangerous 
to the economic and moral condition of a country and to its real 
happiness, and this feeling is justified by history and political economy. 

Goldsmith's description of the life of English emigrants to the 
American colony named (from King George II) Georgia, is charac- 
teristic of the ignorance of American affairs which prevailed among 
Englishmen in the eighteenth century. The case of the poet who 
could write, five years before the beginning of the Revolutionary 
War, of the tropical forests, the dark scorpions, the drowsy clusters 
of bats, the crouching tigers, and all "the various terrors of that 
horrid shore," meaning the shore of the Altamaha (" Altama") River, 
is paralleled by that of the Minister of State who at about the same 
date, in a speech in Parliament, described New England as an island. 
The colony of Georgia was founded in 1733 by Oglethorpe, partly 
as a retreat for outlawed debtors and other unfortunate Englishmen, 
and was much in the public eye in Goldsmith's time. Observe that 
the picturesqueness and vivid fancy of this tropical landscape are 
in no wise impaired by the fact that it is geographically misplaced. 

In the description of the village itself poetic beauty and literal 
truth meet and mingle. It is of course an idealized picture, but it is 
truly, and not falsely, idealized. Its realism is its striking merit. 
Goldsmith described what he knew and remembered exactly as it 
was, and the charm of the picture is all due to the play of Loving 
memory and genial spirits about real objects. 

The preacher described in the poem was probably suggested by 
Goldsmith's brother, the Reverend Henry Goldsmith, with some 
traits derived from his father. The schoolmaster is said to resemble 



146 Notes and Comment 



in some respects the teacher in Lissoy, the Irish village where Gold- 
smith grew up. In the main features of the picture, however, it does 
not seem that Goldsmith has reproduced his native place. It is 
meant to be, and is, a typical English village. 

This realistic description of common and humble life is couched 
in the dignified, but somewhat artificial, diction of the "classical" 
eighteenth-century school of poetry; there are personifications, 
Nature, Fortune, Smiling Toil, etc.; there are some Latinisms, such 
as 'mansion' for house; and plain objects are called by poetic names: 
'bowers', 'swain', 'cot', 'virgin 1 , etc. It is the custom to consider 
these traits of style a blemish on the poem; but many readers will 
be inclined to think that the little every-day facts are advantageously 
seen through the formal and elegant literary manner of our fore- 
fathers of some generations ago. Certainly much of the charm is 
due to the nice dignity of the famous ' heroic couplet ' — the verse 
of Dryden and Pope — the great classic form of the eighteenth 
century. 

10. Cot: cottage. 

12. Decent: having the look of plain and becoming elegance. 

209. Terms and tides: the days on which certain holidays or 
annual public occasions occur. Terms is the name in England for 
the periods of the court-sessions, from which many annual events in 
English life are calculated; tides are church seasons, such as Christ- 
mas and Easter. 

210. Gauge: measure the contents of casks, especially for the 
purposes of tax-collection. 

232. The twelve good rules: twelve wise rules of conduct, sup- 
posed to have been devised by King Charles I, which used to hang 
in a conspicuous place in many public resorts. They were: 

1. Urge no healths. 2. Profane no divine ordinances. 3. Touch 
no state matters. 4. Reveal no secrets. 5. Pick no quarrels. 
6. Make no companions. 7. Maintain no ill opinions. 8. Keep no 
bad company, o. Encourage no vice. 10. Make no long meals. 
11. Repeat no grievances. 12. Lay no wagers. 

The royal game of goose: a game a little like backgammon, in 
which the moves are determined bv the fall of dice. 






Notes and Comment 147 

303-4. The iib~ of the abstracts poverty and pride for the corres- 
ponding concrete nouns is characteristic of eighteenth-century poetry. 

Contiguous pride: the proud neighbors who grasp the public 
lands, and enclose them within their own estates. 

316. The pale artist: the tailor, artist being a poetic .equivalent of 
artisan. 

319. Dome: a stately building. 

344. Altama: the Altamaha River in Georgia. 

418. Torno: a river (and also a lake) in Finland and Sweden; 
Pambamarca: a mountain in Ecuador. The two following lines 
show why these places are picked out for mention. 

427-30. These four lines were written by Goldsmith's friend, Dr. 
Johnson, who also contributed ten lines to The Traveller. 



MISCELLANEOUS LYRICS 

Under the inclusive title of 'miscellaneous lyrics' we gather a 
number of poems of various kinds, one or two of which, such as Pope's 
lines on Solitude, might by a slight extension of the term be called 
odes, tWo or three of which were called ' songs ' by their authors, but 
lack the verve and swing of the popular music. In time they cover 
the whole eighteenth century, from the simple lines of Colley Cibber, 
poet-laureate in Pope's time, to the reflective verses of Samuel 
Rogers, who lived to decline the laurel, in 1850, in favor of Alfred 
Tennyson. 

Two kinds of poems predominate in this list. One is the poem, or 
'set of verses' (sometimes called vers de societe), in which a little 
incident of daily social or domestic life is treated with a delicate 
mingling of sentiment and wit. Matthew Prior, who is the recog- 
nized eighteenth-century master of vers de societe, always keeps on 
the safe side of sentimentality, the side that is turned toward wit and 
fancy; and Thomas Gray, whom we have seen heretofore only in his 
serious moods, shows in the mock-serious poem on the death of a cat 
how lightly he could touch a trivial theme. Ambrose Philips, in his 
lines to the child Charlotte Pulteney, leans more toward the side of 



148 Xotes and Comment 



compliment and sentiment than the other poets, but is almost equally 
successful and delightful. 

The larger number of the remaining poems fall under the head of 
reflective, or meditative, verse. It will be seen that these occur 
chiefly in the latter part of the century; and most of them are the 
work of William Cowper. In these poems the little incidents that 
made up Cowper's quiet life in his country retirement are recorded 
with delicate truthfulness and deep feeling. 

The Blind Boy (Page 55) 

Colley Cibber, the author of these lines was an excellent actor of 
comic parts, a successful writer of comedies, and a well-advertised 
celebrity of London life in the generation of Addison and Pope. 



Ode on Solitude (Page 56) 

This apparently mature expression of middle-age wisdom was 
composed, according to Pope's own account, when he was only twelve 
years old. 

From Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue (Page 56) 

The character of this selection seems to justify its inclusion among 
the lyrics. — Pope was exceedingly interested in the famous Fourth 
Eclogue of Virgil, in which the poet prophesies the birth of a son to 
the consul Pollio in terms strangely like those of the Old-Testament 
prophecies of the birth of a Messiah. Virgil probably derived the 
imagery of the Pollio from one of the Sibylline prophecies, but 
it was long thought throughout Christendom that the heathen poet 
by special divine grace had been admitted to the mysteries of Chris- 
tian prophecy, or at least that he had in some way become familiar 
with the Hebrew prophetic literature. 

In the poem Messiah Pope undertook to write an eclogue, or 
pastoral, in imitation of Virgil's, but with the subject-matter of the 



. 



Notes and Comment 149 

prophet Isaiah. It is a prophecy of the birth and life of Christ, and 
of the new age begun by his advent. The whole poem is 108 lines 
long, of which the last 24 lines — the part printed here — include a 
magnificent view of the history of the Christian church through the 
ages since Christ's death, and finally of its ultimate triumph and 
universal sway when the material heavens and earth shall pass away 
on the day of judgment. 

Nearly all the imagery and incidental allusions in these lines may 
be understood by a comparison of the sixtieth chapter of Isaiah, 
of which it is a very free paraphrase. Pope himself refers particular 
lines to particular verses of that chapter. ' Salem' (or Jerusalem) 
is the church of God; the 'long race' that adorn her courts are 
the generations of Christian peoples; the crowding ranks 'im- 
patient for the skies ' are the Christian devotees of all ages who 
have despised the world and sought to escape from it; the 'bar- 
barous nations' are the modern nations of Europe converted, 
while they were still migratory tribes, by missionaries from Chris- 
tianized Rome; 'bright altars' is an allusion to the glories of St. 
Peter's church and the Vatican, at Rome, where all the nations of 
Europe long brought their tribute. (Pope, it should be remembered 
was a Roman Catholic, and there is no mention here of Protestant 
Christianity.) 'Idume' (line 11) or Idumaea, is the Greek name for 
Edom, a fertile country, rich in woodlands, which lay near the terri- 
tory of the Jews and was conquered by Saul and David. 'Ophir' 
(line 12) is the Arabian coast country from which Solomon's ships 
brought gold and ivory. 

There is an excellent illustration of the false ornament with which 
Pope sometimes attempts to elevate his subject, in the use of the clas- 
sical name 'Cynthia' (line 16) for the moon; but beginning with the 
line which succeeds this egregious blunder, the conclusion of the 
poem is in the finest strain of grandiose eloquence, and the last four 
lines have a true sublimity of their own, though it is a different kind 
of sublimity from that of the verses in Isaiah (51: 6 and 54: 10) of 
which they are a paraphrase. 



150 Xotes and Comment 



To Charlotte Pulteney (Page 57; 

The generation of Addison and Pope was wont to make fun of 
Ambrose Philips's " little verses " to friends as below the dignity of 
literature. But simplicity and truth win in the long run over the ar- 
tificial fashions of a day, and these charming and sincere lines have 
outlived all the more pretentious works of their author. Observe 
that the delicate sentiment of the poem is accompanied by exquisite 
truth of description. 



To A Child of Quality (Page 58) 

Prior writes much more gaily than Philips, but without his sim- 
plicity. The ''child of quality" is a precocious young lady already 
training for social conquests. 



An Ode (Page 59) 

The witty cynicism of a cultivated townsman, partly assumed as 
a pose, and uttered with the proper grace of manner, is Prior's claim 
to distinction. The last stanza of this poem is a delightful example 
of the dainty and artificial classicism of the eighteenth century, in 
which the Greek divinities adopt the dress and manners of the 
drawing-room. 

Ox a Favorite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes 
(Page 60) 

Success in the mock-heroic poem depends upon the application of 
the same conscientious art to very small or trivial things that one 
would give to a large and important theme. Gray adorns his 
little burlesque story with elaborate description and solemn moral 
maxims. 



Notes and Comment 151 

Tell me how to Woo thee (Page 62) 

The well-born Scottish gentleman, Graham of Gartmore, is remem- 
bered in literature only as the author of this fine love-poem. It is 
a late survival of the Cavalier lyric of the seventeenth century. 



One-and-Twenty (Page 63) 

These excellent verses show, what is often forgotten, that irony and 
scorn may speak lyrically as well as the gentler emotions. Doctor 
Johnson's more famous poems are excluded from our pages because 
they are satires, not lyrics; One-and-Twenty has the homely 
wisdom that endears the conversation of this great man to all gen- 
erations of readers (thanks to Boswell's Life), and none of the 
artificial diction which he affected in his more elaborate works. 



The Song of David (Page 64) 

These stanzas come from a long poem called A Song to 
David, written by Christopher Smart, a book-publisher's hack 
who used to be known as the author of a useful prose translation of 
Horace. He lived an ill-ordered life in London, suffering from the 
related miseries of poverty and drink, and was for a time confined 
in a mad-house. It was in a sane interval during his confinement 
that he wrote the Song of David, a strange and unequal per- 
formance, with some stanzas of inspired eloquence and majesty. 



The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk (Page 65) 

This is an imaginary soliloquy of the sailor whose experience fur- 
nished Defoe with the material for Robinson Crusoe. Selkirk 
joined the famous Captain Dampier on a privateering expedi- 
tion into the South Seas, and, having quarreled with another officer, 
demanded that he be put ashore on the uninhabited island of Juan 



152 Notes and Comment 

Fernandez. This was in December, 1704, and he remained alone on 
the island until the spring of 1709, when he was taken off by another 
expedition of Dampier's. 

We here find, for the first time in this volume, anapaestic verses, 
which later became the favorite form of Moore, Byron, and others 
in their occasional poems, and has since been used with more art by 
Swinburne and other poets. The anapaestic foot consists of three 
syllables with the accent on the last; it is the iambic foot with two 
unaccented syllables instead of one. It has the advantage of marked 
and rapid movement, and is subject to the danger of falling into a 
monotonous and undignified trot. Cowper has wholly avoided this 
danger here. 

To Mary Unwin (Page 67) 

* The next four poems, beginning with this one, are all connected 
with Cowper's life at Olney in the home of his friends, Mr. and Mrs. 
Unwin. He met these good people when he was thirty-five years old, 
and was a constant visitor in their home until Mr. Unwin's death. 
Cowper and Mrs. Unwin then removed, with her two children, to 
a house at Olney, where they lived for twenty years. Mrs. Unwin 
cared for him through a period of mental derangement lasting a year 
and a half and they continued to be housemates and self-forgetting 
friends until Mrs. Unwin's death in 1796. 

The first of the two poems to Mary Unwin is the only example in 
this book of the sonnet-form. It consists of a single stanza (though 
often printed with breaks to show the divisions of thought) of four- 
teen lines. The form used by Cowper is known as the Shakespearian 
or Spenserian form: three quatrains (four-line sections) followed by 
a concluding couplet. At the end of the eighth line there is usually 
a sharp break or decided turn in the thought. The Italian form, used 
by Milton and Wordsworth, is now much commoner. 

To the Same (Page 67) 

In the first lines Cowper probably alludes to the attack of melan- 
cholia, in 1773-74, through which he was nursed by Mrs. Unwin. 



Notes and Comment 153 

The fear of the return of it overclouded the rest of their lives. The 
poem was written therefore about 1795, when Cowper was almost 
sixty-five, and Mrs. Unwin, who was over seventy, was suffering 
from the effects of a stroke of paralysis. She died in 1796, and 
Cowper in 1800. Observe the truth and honesty of Cowper's de- 
scription of his friend's frailties, and how much nobler it is than the 
vague, euphemistic terms under which such unhappy realities are 
often concealed by timid poets. 

THe Shrubbery (Page 70) 

Sensitiveness to the influences of nature is shown by this lament at 
the inward care which benumbs it, no less than if the poem were a 
detailed description of natural beauties. It is a sign of Cowper's 
honesty that he acknowledges how much of the joy in nature is con- 
tributed by the mood of the spectator: 

How ill the scene that offers rest, 
And heart that cannot rest, agree! 

Thr Jackdaw (Page 71) 

This is a translation of a Latin poem by a contemporary of Cowper's, 
but much of the wit and, of course, all the deftness of the English 
versification are Cowper's own. 

To a Young Lady (Page 72) 

Notice that the comparison begun in the second line is continued 
in each succeeding line of the poem. 

Loss of the Royal George (Page 73) 

"The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial ca- 
reening at Spithead, was overset about 10 a.m., Aug. 20, 1782." 
Palgrave. "The reader who feels the vigor of description and the 
force of pathos underlying Cowper's bare and truly Greek simplicity 



154 Notes and Comment 

of phrase, may assure himself se valde profecisse [that he has made 
good progress] in poetry." Ibid. Cowper, however, does not aim at 
being Greek, but at being true. 

A single quality dominates all of Cowper's poetry, grave and gay 
alike — this quality of truthfulness. He had a singularly sharp eye 
for the detection of the exact details of an object or scene or incident 
and a hand which wrought with a skill in delineating them like that 
of an unerring mechanic with his tools; but, what is more important, 
there was a characteristic honesty in his mind which kept him from 
imitating the observations of other poets instead of recording his 
own. The reader of the poems in these pages will recognize the truth 
of his own criticism of himself: "My descriptions," he says, "are 
all from nature; — not one of them second-handed. My delinea- 
tions of the heart are from my own experience; — not one of them 
borrowed from books, or in the least degree conjectural." 



The Castaway (Page 74) 

The Castaway was written in 1799, the year before Cowper's 
death, when the awful dread of eternal banishment from God which 
pursued him through life had been deepened by solitude and grief. 
He re-read or recalled an incident, narrated by Lord George Anson 
in his Voyage Round the World, of the necessary abandonment 
in mid-ocean of a sailor who had been washed overboard. In 
the fate of this "destined wretch" he saw a type of his own out- 
cast and lost condition. His imagination thus quickened by sympa- 
thy, he re-created all the dreadful detail of the scene, and described 
it with his usual homely truthfulness. 

He states in the first stanza the correspondence between his own 
fate and that of the sailor. 'I', in the third line, means the poet 
himself. 

It might be a profitable exercise to retell the story of the drowning 
in prose with full detail, in order to bring out how faithful and mi- 
nute Cowper is in all matters of fact. 



Notes and Comment 155 

To-morrow (Page 76) 

The author was a very obscure poet who published a curious vol- 
ume of verse at Birmingham at the beginning of the nineteenth 
century. 

The last line contains a punning allusion to a dress-stuff known as 
i everlasting.' 

A Wish (Page 77) 

Samuel Rogers was a cultured and gentlemanly writer, whose 
long life connects the age of Johnson with the age of Tennyson. He 
was offered the poet-laureateship in 1850, when he was nearly ninety, 
and when he declined the honor the choice fell on Alfred Tennyson. 
He wrote many verses, which are always tasteful and pleasing, but 
never show the creative power of a great poet. 

A Farewell (Page 79) 

These well-turned verses are by Mrs. Barbauld (born 1743; died 
1825), an exceptionally- talented woman, who wrote essays in the 
manner of Dr. Johnson, and several volumes of verse, which were 
popular because of their excellent moral teaching and their unusual 
grace of style. 

ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS 

The history of English songs and ballads in the seventeenth and 
eighteenth centuries has been briefly traced in the first pages of the 
Introduction to this volume. It is shown there that the spread of 
education in England after the invention of printing expelled the 
fine old singing- verses of the Middle Ages out of the people's memory, 
and that in the eighteenth century there were few good popular 
songs. The lyric became a learned, rather than a popular, form of 
art, and it has unfortunately continued to be so regarded down to 
our own time. (In Scotland, however, folk-song continued to thrive 
down to a later date, as we shall see in the following section.) For- 
tunately, even in the learned and cultivated society of eighteenth- 



156 Notes and Comment 






century England there were some poets who did not disdain the 
simple language of the popular song. 



Song: Not,,Celia, That I Juster am (Page 80) 

Notice that this song which professes to prove the constancy of 
the lover is really a delightful and flattering compliment to his lady. 
Such courtly gallantry is the form that love usually takes in the 
Restoration lyrics. The language, however, is beautifully simple, 
as the language of a song should be. 

Song Written at Sea (Page 81) 

It is supposed that the Earl of Dorset wrote this song in the cabin 
of the admiral's ship, on the night before the English fleet engaged 
the Dutch in an important battle of the war of 1665-66, and in the 
midst of the bustle of preparation for fight. To remember the duty 
of dispatching a compliment to the ladies of the Court on such an 
occasion was a characteristic piece of dashing frivolity in a gallant 
of Charles's time. The song became a great favorite in London. 

26. Whitehall: the royal residence of the Stuart kings, in West- 
minster (now part of London). The stairs at the foot of the garden 
were used in leaving or entering boats on the river. 

27. Opdam: the Dutch admiral. 

30. Goree : a place on the Dutch coast. 
35. Vapor: fume or rage. 

Song: My Dear Mistress Has a Heart (Page 8s) 

A fine example of words that sing. There is a vein of true tender- 
ness and sentiment in Rochester's songs and in his family letters, 
though he was one of the most reckless and abandoned men of his 
day. 

Constancy (Page 84) 

Phyllis, Amfntas — with such fanciful shepherd-names the poets 
of the period were fond of disguising their flirtations, or adorning 



; 



Notes and Comment 157 

their compliments. Most love-poetry during the next hundred 
years was addressed to a Phyllis, a Celia, a Delia, or a Chloris. 



Rule Britannia (Page fy) 

James Thomson, the author of the song that has followed the 
British flag around the world, is known chiefly as the writer of the 
descriptive poem The Seasons, published in parts between 1725 
and 1730. 

Black-eyed Susan (Page 86) 

John Gay was a shiftless, happy- tempered, lazy man, blessed with 
the friendship of Pope, Swift, and other great men, whose patronage 
made life easy and pleasant for him. He was fond of burlesquing 
heroic or classical styles of poetry by using them in connection with 
scenes and incidents of common life. But he often succeeded, while 
doing this, in writing something better than burlesques, namely, real 
pictures of the life of simple folk, nicely touched with wit and senti- 
ment. In the present ballad, Sweet William's Farewell to Black- 
eyed Susan, we have good-humored parody of street-songs, with their 
high-flown sentiment and ornament, but we have also a charming 
picture of a real scene. 

Sally in Our Alley (Page %%) 

This ballad is, like Gay's Black-eyed Susan, a little romance of 
London street-life, regarded from above by a man of culture and 
reported with some humor, but with fine sympathy. The picture 
of the 'prentice-boy's life and surroundings is complete, and the 
secret of his heart is told with absolute simplicity. 

SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS 

We have seen that in England folk-songs — songs written by and 
for the common people — died out soon after the end of the 
Middle Ages. But in Scotland they were still made and sung 
as late as the nineteenth century. This was partly due to the 



158 Notes and Comment 

fact that education advanced more slowly, but chiefly to certain 
other conditions, geographical and social. In the southwestern 
part of Scotland, and especially in Ayrshire, the remoteness of the 
farmer-population from great towns and cities was sufficient to keep 
alive the old singing-custom. The songs of this region, from which 
Burns learned his wonderful lyric art, mirror the life of a farmer- 
community. They have nothing to do with battle or romantic 
tragedy; sentiment and rough humor are their chief traits. On the 
other hand, the songs and ballads which Sir Walter Scott imitated 
were of a different character, because they were produced in a region 
which differed from Ayrshire in its geographical features and its 
social life. The country roughly called 'The Border', lying between 
Edinburgh and the English boundary consists of rugged hills, once 
covered with forest, but now chiefly bare of trees and overgrown with 
heather. In the valleys below the hill-tops run the storied rivers of 
Scotch song, the Tweed, the Till, and others, and each of these has 
many small tributaries coming down out of narrow valleys which take 
their names from them. These little valleys of the Yarrow, Gala, 
Teviot or Esk were the homes of ballad and lyric. Each of them was 
inhabited by a race of shepherds and cattle-drivers who were bound 
closely to each other, and to the laird or landowner, by complicated ties 
of kinship, and were far readier to recognize, either for peace or war, 
the authority of the chiefs of their clan than the supreme law of the 
land. Few or no roads penetrated the valleys, and the feuds between 
neighboring dales or clans tended to limit travel within very short 
distances from the 'peel,' or fortified tower, of a chieftain. Here of 
course the conditions of an ancient world survived into the midst of 
modern civilization. The melodies and words of old songs lived on, 
unwritten and unforgotten, for centuries, and local singers and pipers, 
who inherited the tradition of ballad-making, were ready to shape 
new stories to old tunes, when some sad, bold, or wild deed stirred 
up the ancient impulse anew. As we should expect, nearly all of 
the Border Songs have a strong local character, and they are nearly 
all based on exciting incidents, tragic, supernatural, or martial. 
Their tragic power is illustrated by the fine ballad Willie Drowned 
in Yarrow, which begins our list of Scotch poems. 



Notes and Comment 159 

Of course a number of the Scotch poems included in this section 
are not in the strict sense folk-songs. The Braes of Yarrow, 
Aula 1 Robin Gray, and others are by educated persons who 
wrote in imitation of the popular art of the country. But 
some of them have almost the true character of folk-songs, because 
their authors wrote when the ancient customs of balladry were still 
living before their eyes. 



Willie Drowned in Yarrow (Page 90) 

One of the very best of folk-songs. The pathos of the girl's lament 
and the tragic simplicity of the conclusion are not surpassed by any- 
thing in the literature of art and culture. Nothing is known of the 
event which the poem records except what it tells. 

In a popular ballad the greater part of the story is usually told, 
as here, in the dramatic form, that is, in the speech or dialogue of the 
actors. 

7. Hecht: promised. 

8. Gin: if. 

15. Ilka: every. 

32. Twined: deprived. 

39. Syne: then; at last. 



The Braes of Yarrow (Page 91) 

This is a re-telling, by a Scottish man of letters, of the incident 
described in the preceding poem. It is an excellent poem, though 
its merits are different from those of the genuine folk-song. 



Auld Robin Gray (Page 93) 

Written in 1771 by Lady Anne Lindsay, afterward Lady Anne 
Barnard, eldest daughter of the fifth earl of Balcarres, whose scat 
was in Fifeshire. The poem became a very popular song, but its 
authorship was unknown until 1823, when Lady Anne wrote a letter 



160 Notes and Comment 






to Sir Walter Scott, who had mentioned the song in The Pirate. 
After saying that 'Robin Gray' was the name of "the old herd at 
Balcarres," Lady Anne continues: "My sister Margaret had married, 
and accompanied her husband to London. I was melancholy, and 
endeavored to amuse myself by attempting a few poetical trifles. 
There was an English-Scotch melody of which I was passionately 
fond. Sophy Johnstone, who lived before your day, used to sing it 
to us at Balcarres. She did not object to its having improper words, 
though I did. I longed to sing old Sophy's air to different words, 
and give its plaintive tones some little history of virtuous distress 
in humble life, such as might suit it. While attempting to effect 
this in my closet I called to my little sister, now Lady Hardwicke, 
who was the only person near me, 'I have been writing a ballad, my 
dear; I am oppressing my heroine with many misfortunes. I have 
already sent her Jamie to sea, and broken her father's arm, and made 
her mother fall sick, and given her Auld Robin Gray for a lover; 
but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow within the four lines, poor 
thing! Help me to one!' ' Steal the cow, sister Anne,' said the little 
Elizabeth. The cow was immediately lifted by me, and the song 
completed. At our fireside and among our neighbors Auld Robin Gray 
was always called for." 

The rhythm is anapaestic, but frequent variation of the number of 
syllables constantly changes the movement. These changes have 
the same effect that a singer's retarding or hurrying of certain notes 
has — the effect of giving expression. 

i. Kye: cows. 

4. Gudeman: husband. 

29. Muckle: much. 

There 's Nae Luck About the House (Page 94) 

Burns thought this delightful song was by Jean Adams, a very poor 
woman who had once been a school-teacher and died in a hospital in 
Glasgow in 1765; and this seems to be more likely than that it was 
written by a William Julius Mickle (1 734-1 788), a Scotchman who 
lived most of his life at Oxford, England, and was a rather well-known 



Notes and Comment 161 

literary figure in his day. If internal evidence amounts to anything, 
this poem was written by a woman, not by a man. 

13. Bigonet: little cap. 

15. Baillie: sheriff. 

22. Muckle: big. 
25. Slaes: sloes. 

27. Gudeman: husband. 
34. Gar: make. 
38. Caller: fresh. 
44. Greet: weep. 
48. Lave : the rest. 

Absence (Page 96) 

The rules of lyric poetry are best studied in folk-songs. In this 
little classic, for instance, we have the single emotion, expressed in 
simple, direct, and musical language, which the critics tell us we 
should find in the perfect lyric. " Burns himself, despite two attempts, 
failed to improve this little absolute masterpiece of music, tender- 
ness, and simplicity: this 'Romance of a life' in eight lines." Palgrave. 

4. Eerie: uneasy, wretched. 

The Land o' the Leal (Page 97) 

The author of this song was Carolina Oliphant, the beautiful 
daughter of a Jacobite Scotch laird, who married her cousin, Lord 
Nairn. She was deeply interested in Burns's work, and emulated 
him in his task of providing fit words for the old airs. 

The Land 0' the Leal was written to a well-known tune which was 
commonly sung to some light verses with the refrain "hey tutti 
tutti" the same tune to which Burns also set the words of his martial 
ballad Bannockburn ("Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled"). 

1. Leal: loyal, faithful. 

23. Fain: glad. 



162 Notes and Comment 



Lament for Flodden (Page 97) 






Jane Elliott, 1 727-1805, the author of Lament for Flodden, was a 
native of Teviotdale, Scotland. Sir Gilbert Elliott, her brother, 
wagered a pair of gloves against her ability to write a successful poem 
on Flodden; these verses were the result. They won high praise 
from Walter Scott, especially on account of the writer's skill in 
imitating the manner of the ancient minstrels. Lament for Flodden, 
also called The Flowers of the Forest, is the only poem known to 
have been written by Jane Elliott. 

Flodden, on the border of Scotland and England, was, in 15 13, the 
scene of a battle between the English and the Scotch. In this battle 
the Scotch army was annihilated and King James IV was slain. 

2. Lilting: singing. 

3. Ilka: every; loaning: open,. untilled ground. 
5. Bughts: sheep-pens. 
7. Daffin* and gabbin' : joking and chatting. 

10. Bandsters: sheaf-binders; lyart: grizzled. 

11. Fleeching: coaxing. 

12. Wede: gone. 

ROBERT BURNS 

It used to be the custom to speak of Burns as a poet who had 
neither predecessors nor companions in his art among his fellow- 
countrymen of his own class. Biographers loved to draw a picture 
of the ignorant countryman who was able to write great lyric poetry 
by some strange, almost miraculous, gift, without knowing any of 
the ordinary rules or methods of the art. The truth is exactly the 
opposite of this. For Burns not only knew the works of the greater 
English poets, Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton, Pope, and many others, 
but he also had predecessors in the art of Scottish poetry, whose 
works he used to carry about in his pocket, and read in the intervals 
of his work upon his father's farm. 

He himself joyfully acknowledged his indebtedness. In the pref- 
ace to the famous volume of his poems published at Kilmarnock in 






Notes and Comment 163 

1786, he says that he looks upon himself u as possessed of some poetic 
abilities, . . . but," he continues, "to the genius of a Ramsay, or the 
glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he, with equal 
unaffected sincerity, declares that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, 
he has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly-admired 
poets he has often had in his eye in the following pieces; but rather 
with a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile imitation." He 
never tired of praising "the poor, unfortunate Ferguson," who had 
died at the age of twenty-four in distressing circumstances, and during 
his visit to Edinburgh he made it his business to erect, at his own 
expense, a fitting monument over his grave. 

His obligation to these literary masters is chiefly, however, in his 
longer poems, narrative, descriptive, and satirical. But the poems 
which have made his name a household word wherever English is 
spoken are his songs. In these Burns gave free expression to his 
natural feelings, his tender sympathy, his impetuous passions, his 
remorse for the many errors of his life, his enjoyment of the droll and 
comic, and his rollicking high spirits. None but a great poet and a 
man of broad sympathies could have sung so well in such a variety 
of moods. But even Burns could not have made the songs that all 
the world sings if he had depended on his own powers alone. His 
songs are based on the melodies and words of the songs of the people 
of Ayrshire, among whom he lived. 

From his boyhood he liked these familiar songs and had the gift 
of singing them with dramatic effect. Wherever he went — "among 
the lasses" of the neighboring farms, at the Mauchline Fair, or in 
Nanse Tinnock's tavern — he was welcome, not only as a hearty 
companion, but also as a kind of unprofessional minstrel, with the 
ready memory and the gift of rapid invention which insure an en- 
tertainer's popularity. It was known, too, that he could make 
verses of his own to the old melodies, and he was locally famous as a 
poet before he published the volume of 1786, which made him known 
to the world. The familiarity with Scotch song which he won in 
this way ripened in manhood into strong affection. His social ami 
literary success at Edinburgh made him not less, but more, proud of 
his country lore, and his last dark years at Dumfries are lightened by 



164 Notes and Comment 

the noble resolve to improve and preserve the native poetry of his 
home. He had been working, without conscious purpose, at this 
task from his boyhood, but he now undertook it as the true mission 
of his life. In the intervals of his work he spent his time in polishing 
and refining the old words, or composing new verses in place of those 
which had been lost or hopelessly marred. Often, it is true, he kept 
nothing of the original song but its rhythm and melody, inventing 
wholly new verses on new subjects; but even then he minimized 
his own share in the finished result, and considered himself merely 
the recorder of the national poetry. He would accept no money 
from the magazines in which his songs appeared at this time, and had 
them signed with initials that did not reveal his connection with 
them. 

Lament for Culloden (Page 98) 

In 1745 there was a great rising throughout the Highlands of Scot- 
land in the cause of Prince Charles Edward, "the Young Pretender," 
who claimed the throne of England as the representative of the old 
Scotch house of Stuart. His army, which consisted chiefly of 
Scotch clansmen, was defeated at Culloden (also called 'Drumossie') 
Moor, near Inverness, with great loss of life, and those who had 
joined his cause were severely punished. Many soldiers were shot 
after the battle, and a great number of officers and privates who 
were taken prisoners, were tried and executed in England. 

Collins's Ode written in 1J46 commemorates the English sol- 
diers who fell during this rebellion. 

This song, or ballad, is wholly original with Burns. It is written 
in the exact method of the old Border ballads, half lyric, half drama. 
Compare its style with that of the folk-ballad Willie Drowned In 
Yarrow in the preceding section. 

To a Mouse (Page 99) 

Burns's brother Gilbert said that this poem was composed at the 
time of the incident it celebrates, "while the author was holding the 
plow." Burns has expressed a finer sympathy with animals than 



Notes and Comment 165 

any other poet; the sense of the pathos of human life mingles with 
his regret for their unavoidable suffering. The stanza, which is 
Burns's favorite in poems of description, reflection, and satire, was 
given to him by his predecessor, Ferguson, but it had come down 
from a long line of Scotch poets, and is ultimately of French origin — 
a common form among the Troubadours. The distinctive feature 
of it is the neat turn which may be given to the last two lines, which 
are known as "the wheel," or "the bob-wheel." They repeat the 
exact form of the two lines which precede them. 
1. Sleekit: sleek or sleeked. 

4. Bickerin' brattle : sudden and noisy scamper. 

5. Laith: loath; rin: run. 

6. Pattle : the stick carried by a plowman to scrape the mud from 
the coulter. 

14. Maun: must. 

15. A daimen-icker: an occasional ear of grain; throve: sheaf or 
bundle. 

17. The lave: the rest, what is left. 

21. Big: build. 

22. Foggage: the rough grass that grows up in a field after the 
crop has been reaped. 

24. Baith: both; snell: biting. 

29. Coulter: the knife or cutter of a plow. 

31. Stibble: stubble. 

34. But: without, out of. 

35. Thole: endure. 

36. Cranreuch: hoarfrost. 

37. Thy lane : by yourself, alone. 
40. Gang: go; a-gley: askew, awry. 

To a Mountain Dairy (Page 101) 

In the same form as the preceding, which probably suggested it. 
It is inferior to that, however, especially in the moralizing st an/as 
at the end. Notice that in the descriptive part Burns uses Scotch 
words, in the moral stanzas he writes almost purely literary English. 



166 Notes and Comment 

3. Maun: must; stoure: dirt. 
7. Neebor: neighbor. 
9. Weet: wet. 

20. Wa's: walls. 

21. Random bield : occasional shelter. 

23. Histie stibble-field : bare stubble-field. 

Mary MofasoN (Page 103) 

It is not known certainly who is the subject of these exquisite 
lines, — perhaps a Mary Morison who lived at Mauchline while 
Burns was there, and died of consumption in 1791. Notice that the 
arrangement of rimes serves to bind the two quatrains of the stanza 
together. There is little Scotch in the poem; take it all out, and the 
poem would be an almost faultless English lyric; but it would lose 
something. 



Bonnie Lesley (Page 104) 

Burns wrote to his friend, Mrs. Dunlop, in August, 1792: "Mr. 
B. [Mr. Baillie, a neighbor of Mrs. Dunlop's], with his two daugh 
ters (one of whom was named Lesley), accompanied with Mr. H. 
G., passing through Dumfries a few days ago on their way to England, 
did me the honor of calling on me; on which I took my horse . . . 
and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and 
spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, that I left them, 
and riding home I composed the following ballad, of which you will 
probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another 
groat of postage. You must know that there is an old ballad begin- 
ning with: — 

My Bonnie Lizzie Baillie, I'll rowe thee in my plaidie. 

So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy." 

The defectiveness of the rimes in Burns's songs is remarkable, 
but in this, as in all things, he is following the example of folk-song. 
In popular songs and ballads a general or vague correspondence of 
s«und often serves the purpose of exact rime. 



Mr. 

gh- 



Notes and Comment 167 

8. Sic: such. 
13. Scaith: hurt. 

17. Tent: tend, care for. 

18. Steer: stir, rouse, molest. 

Song: O My Luve's Like a Red, Red Rose (Page 105) 

This song, like Ben Jonson's Drink to Me Only with Thine 
Eyes, is a mosaic of precious stones found, polished, and joined 
together by the hand of genius. Compare the firsi stanza with 
this from an old collection of ballads: 

Her cheeks are like the roses 

That blossom fresh in June: 
O, she's like a new-strung instrument 

That's newly put in tune; 

the second and the third with this: 

The seas they shall run dry, 

And rocks melt into sands: 
Then I'll love you still, my dear, 

When all these things are done. 

the fourth with this: 

Now fare thee well, my dearest dear, 

Arid fare thee well awhile; 
Although I go, I'll come again, 

If I go ten thousand mile, 
Dear love, 

If I go ten thousand mile. 



A Farewell (Page 105) 

Burns says: "The first half-stanza ... is old; the rest is 
mine." The mention of well-known points about the harbor d 
Edinburgh in the first stanza gives an admirable realism to the song. 



1 68 Notes and Comment 






In the Earl of Dorset's Song Written at Sea, the same direct way of 
mentioning common things deserves all praise, and there may be an 
interesting comparison in these two poems of the courtier's and the 
popular poet's ways of treating similar themes. 
2. Tassie: cup. 

Ye Flowery Banks (Page 106) 

The more familiar title of this poem, The Banks O' Doon, is 
derived from another better-known, but inferior, version of it, in 
which the second and fourth lines of each stanza are longer, and there 
is considerable padding by means of " literary" language. The first 
four lines of it are as follows : 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
* An' I sae weary fu' of care. 

19. Staw: stole. 

Highland Mary (Page 107) 

Burns sent this song to a publisher in 1792, saying: "The subject 
of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful 
days." He refers to his love for Mary Campbell, of whom little is 
positively known except what he tells us. "My 'Highland Lassie,' 
he says, "was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever 
blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of the 
most ardent reciprocal attachment we met by appointment on the 
second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the Banks of Ayr, 
where we spent the day in taking farewell, before she should embark 
for the west Highlands to arrange matters for our projected change of 
life. At the close of the autumn following she crossed the sea to 
meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed, when she was 
seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the 
grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness." 

1. Braes: a small hill or slope. 






Notes and Comment 169 

4. Drumlie: muddy, disturbed. 
9. Birk: birch. 

Of A' The Airts (Page 108) 

The Jean of the song is Jean Armour, whom Burns married in 
1788. At the time the song was composed she was still at her home 
in Ayrshire, and Burns was already in Dumfriesshire on the farm 
which he had rented after his return from Edinburgh. Hence the 
preference for the west wind. 

1. Airts: directions, or quarters of the heavens. 

14. Shaw: a wood. 

Ha, Ha, the Wooing o 't (Page 108) 

In sending this to a publisher in December, 1792, Burns wrote: 
"Duncan Gray is that kind of lighthorse gallop of an air which pre- 
cludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature." Burns's 
humor is quite as good as his sentiment; some persons think it better. 
And it is always natural, and purely Scotch. Nothing could be 
livelier or more directly drawn from nature than the relative situa- 
tion of the characters in each of the successive stanzas of this poem. 

3. Fou: full, especially of liquor. 

5. Coost: cast. 

6. Asklent: askance; skeigh: skittish, offish. 

7. Gart: made; abeigh: aloof. 
9. Fleech'd: wheedle, beg. 

14. Grat: wept. 

15. Lowpin: leaping; linn: waterfall. 
19. Bide: endure. 

38. Smoor'd: smothered. 

39. Crouse: jolly; canty: cheerful. 

Green Grow the Rashes, O (Page no) 

The refrain is derived from a gross old song of (he same name. 
Burns said that there were two classes of young men, I lie grave and 



170 Xotes and Comment 

the merry, and that this s ig vill enable any body to determine 
which of the classes I belong to." 

I. Rashes: rushes. 
9. WarTy: worldly, i 
13. Cannie: quiet or gentle. 

16. Tapsalteerie : topsy-turvy. 

17. Douce: sober, staid. 

John Anderson Page in) 

This song furnishes an excellent illustration of Burns's method. 
It is founded on an old song, which Burns's editors describe as "very 
witty and sprightly." with one of the stanzas beginning as follows: 

John Anderson, my Jo. John. 
When first that ye began, etc. 

Trying over the air of this song. Burns evidently felt that it had a 
character of pathos and sentiment which the merry old words did 
not express. He looked about in his mind for the appropriate sub- 
ject, and found it by changing John Anderson and his sweetheart from 
rather disreputable young people into a pair of very old lovers, 
echoes of the phrases of the old song are heard all through this one. 
which is so different in tone. 

4. Brent: straight. 

7. Pow: poll. head. 

II. Canty: cheerful. 

A Max'- a Max For a' That (Page m) 

Written in 1705. the poem expresses the sentiments which the 
French Revolution had wakened throughout Europe. Usually 
Burns is much more independent of class-distinctions than he shows 
himself here, and treats them humorously or as part of the inter- 
: drama of life. In The T:ij Dogs. £pr instance, he strikes 
hi- true, manly note of independence, satirizing with rich humor the 
pretensions of the rich and great, instead of fa } down in 






Notes and Comment 171 

the spirit of defiance. But A Man's a Man is splendidly telling and 
vigorous for all that, and it soon became a rallying cry of the new 
democratic spirit in England and Scotland. 

The phrase 'for a' that' was used as the oft-repeated catch- word 
of many Scotch ditties, and especially of Highland Jacobite songs 
with a ring of rebellion like that of Burns's poem. One of these 
suggested the opening quatrain. (The first two lines mean: Is there 
any one that hangs his head because of honest poverty?) 

10. Hoddin-grey : coarse cloth of the natural color of the wool. 

1^. Birkie : a conceited fellow. 

20. Cuif (or coof) : block-head, dunce. 

28. Fa': come into (one's portion or due part), hence, to claim. 
(The whole phrase means that, though a king can make knights 
and nobles, he must not claim the power of making an honest man.) 

36. Bear the gree : carry off the prize. 

Auld Lang Syne (Page 113) 

The title means (literally): Old long ago. On sending this song to 
a friend, Burns wrote: "Is not the Scotch phrase Auld Lang 
Syne exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune which 
has often thrilled through my soul." He said that the accompanying 
poem was this old song, which he had taken down from an old man's 
singing and had never seen in print. His editors think that he was 
too modest, and that he himself wrote all or nearly all the stanzas, 
but perhaps Burns is right and they are wrong. Certainly there 
were many Scotch songs besides those that have been collected, and 
he may have merely improved one of these in the present stanzas. 
It is a pity that the first stanza is the only familiar one. The third 
and fourth, though too Scotch for world-wide singing, express the 
true sentiment of the poem in simple and beautiful poetry. 

9. Pint-stowp: a flagon (the Scotch pint was two quarts, English 
measure). 

13. Braes: hillsides. 

14. Gowans: daisies. 

15. Fit: foot. 



172 



Notes and Comment 



17. paidled: paddled; burn: brook. 

18. Dine: noon. 

19. Braid: broad. 
21. Fere: companion. 

23. Guid-willie: characterized by good-will and friendship, 
genial; waught: draft. 









INDEX OF AUTHORS 

(WITH WORKS) 

Adams, Jean, died 1765. Page 

There 's nae Luck about the House 94 

Addison, Joseph, 1672-1719. 

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God 24 

Barbauld, Anna Laetitia, 1 743-1825. 

A Farewell 79 

Burns, Robert, 1 759-1 796. 

Auld Lang Syne 113 

Bonnie Lesley 104 

Farewell, A 105 

Green Grow the Rashes, O no 

Ha, ha, the Wooing o't 108 

Highland Mary 107 

John Anderson in 

Lament for Culloden 98 

Man 's a Man for a' that, A in 

Mary Morison 103 

O, my Luve 's like a red, red Rose 105 

Of a' the Airts 108 

To a Mountain Daisy 101 

To a Mouse 00 

Ye Flowery Banks 100 

Carey, Henry, — 1743. 

Sally in our Alley 8S 

Cibber, Colley, 1671-1757. 

Blind Boy, The 55 

1 73 



i;4 Index of Authors 

Collins, John, latter part of iSth century P AGE 

To-morrow -6 

Collins. William, 1721-1759. 

Ode to Evening 36 

Ode to Simplicity 33 

Ode written in 1746 35 

Passions, The: an ode for music 19 

( '« >\\ per, William, i 731-180x3. 

Castaway, The 74 

Jackdaw, The 71 

Loss of the Royal George 73 

Poplar Field. The 69 

Shrubbery. The 70 

Solitude of .Alexander Selkirk. The 65 

To Mary Unwin 67 

To the Same 67 

To a Young Lady 72 

Dryden, John, 1 631-1700. 

Alexander's Feast, or the Power of Music 5 

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 16S7 3 

Elliott. Jane. 1 727-1805. 

Lament for Flodden 97 

Gay. John, 16S5-17 ;:. 

Black-eyed Susan 86 

Goldsmith. Oliver, 1 728-1 774. 

Deserted Village, The 43 

When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly 63 

Graham, Robert, of Gartmore, 1 735-1 797. 

Tell me how to Woo Thee 62 

Gray. Thomas, 1715-1771. 

Bard, The 10 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard • . . 38 

Hymn to Adversity 32 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College 28 



Index of Authors 175 

Gray, Thomas {Continued) P AGE 

Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude 25 

Ode on the Spring 27 

On a Favorite Cat 60 

Progress of Poesy, The 15 

Johnson, Samuel, i 709-1 784. 

One-and-Twenty , 63 

Lindsay, Anne, 1750-1825. 

Auld Robin Gray 93 

Logan, John, 1 748-1 788. 

Braes of Yarrow, The 9T 

Nairn, Lady Carolina, 1 766-1845. 

Land o' the Leal, The , . . 97 

Philips, Ambrose, 1671-1749. 

To Charlotte Pulteney 57 

Pope, Alexander, 1 688-1 744. 

Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue 56 

Ode on Solitude 56 

Prior, Matthew, 1 664-1 721. 

To a Child of Quality 5S 

An Ode 59 

Rogers, Samuel, 1762-1855. 

Sleeping Beauty, The 78 

Wish, A .' 77 

Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset, 163 7-1 706. 

Song written at Sea 81 

Sedley, Sir Charles, 1639-1701. 

Song: Not, Celia, that I juster am So 

Smart, Christopher, 17 22-1 770. 

Song of David, The (>4 

Thomson, James, 1 700-1 748. 

Rule Britannia 84 

Song: For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 85 



Index of Authors 

WiLMor. John, Earl of Rochester, i 647-1680. Page 

Constancy 84 

Song: My dear Mistress has a heart 83 

Anonymous poems 

nee 96 

Willie Drowned in Yarrow 



j£noli8b IRea&tnas for Scbools 

Wilbur L. Cross, Yale University, General Editor 

Addison: Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

Edited by Nathaniel E. Griffin, Princeton University. 

Arnold: Sohrab and Rustum, and Other Poems. 
Edited by Walter S. Hinchman, Groton School. 

Browning: Selections. 

Edited by Charles W. Hodell, Goucher College, Baltimore 

Bunyan: Pilgrim's Progress, Part I. 

Edited by John H. Gardiner, Harvard University. 

Burke: On Conciliation. 

Edited by Daniel V. Thompson, Lawrenceville School. 
Byron: Prisoner of Chillon and Other Poems. 

Edited by Hardin Craig, University of Minnesota. 
Carlyle: Essay on Burns. 

Edited by Sophie C. Hart, Wellesley College. 

Defoe: Robinson Crusoe. 

Edited by Wilbur L. Cross, Yale University. 

Dickens : Tale of Two Cities. 

Edited by E. H. Kemper McComb, Manual Training High 
School, Indianapolis, Ind. 

Eliot: Silas Marner. 

Edited by Ellen E. Garrigues, De Witt Clinton High 
School, New York City. 

Franklin : Autobiography. 

Edited by Frank W. Pine, Hill School, Pottstown, Pa. 
English Lyrics from Dryden to Burns. 

Edited by Morris W. Croll, Princeton University. 

Huxley: Selections. 

Edited by Charles Alphonso Smith, University of Virginir 

Irving: Sketch Book. 

Edited by Arthur W. Leonard, Phillips Academy, Andover, 
Mass. 

Lincoln: Selections. 

Edited by William D. Armes, University of California. 

Macaulay: Life of Johnson. 

Edited by Chester N. Greenough, Harvard University. 

Macaulay: Lord Clive and Warren Hastings. 

Edited by Frederick E. Pierce, Yale University, and 
Samuel Thurber, Jr., Technical High School, Newton, Mass. 



JBnglieb "Rea&ings tor school*— continues 

Milton: Lyric and Dramatic Poems. 

Edited by Martin W. Sampson", Cornell University. 

Old Testament Narratives. 

Edited by George H. Nettleton, Yale University. 

Scott: Quentin Durward. 

Edited by Thomas H. Briggs, Eastern Illinois State Normal 
School, Charleston, 111. 

Scott: Ivanhoe. 

Edited by Alfred A. May, Shattuck School, Faribault, Minn. 

Scott : Lady of the Lake. 

Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock, Public High School, Hart- 
ford, Conn. 

Shakespeare: Alacbeth. 

Edited by Felix E. Schelling, University of Pennsylvania. 

Shakespeare: Merchant of Venice. 

Edited by Frederick E. Pierce, Yale University. 

Shakespeare: Julius Caesar. 

Edited by Ashley H. Thorndike, Columbia University. 

Shakespeare: As You Like It. 

Edited by John YV. Cunliffe and George Roy Elliott, 
University of Wisconsin. 

Stevenson: Inland Voyage and Travels with a Donkey. 
Edited by Edwin* Mims, University of North Carolina. 

Stevenson: Treasure Island. 

Edited by Stuart P. Sherman, University of Illinois. 

Tennyson: Idylls of the King. 

Edited by John Erskine, Columbia University. 

Thackeray: English Humorists. 

Edited by William Lyon Phelps, Yale University. 

Washington: Farewell Address, with Webster: First 
Bunker Hill Oration. Edited by William E. Simonds, Knox 
College, Galesburg, 111. 

Wordsworth: Selections. Also from Coleridge, Shelley, 
and Keats. Edited by James W. Linn, University of 
Chicago. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY, ^ v u y H o E rI 



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